7 oclock
I pull up to the house where the party is at
Which happens to be your house
And I can see that the place is packed
But I already know that no matter how many people are in those rooms
I will be alone

9 oclock
2 hours and only four shots in
And I am not yet drunk enough to be having a good time

11 oclock
I saw you looking at me from across the room
And maybe it was just the alcohol
But I could've swore I saw longing in your eyes

1 oclock
I left without saying goodbye
Because I knew if I opened my mouth around you my lips would carry themselves to yours

2 oclock**
I couldn't stop thinking of you on my ride home
And I hated myself for avoiding you
The crash of metal against metal that filled my ears was surprisingly enough to make my thoughts stop

I sometimes wonder
What morning think.
I sometimes wonder when, where, and why
My eye lashes blink.
I wanted to relax,
Take time and think.
Meditate before I start my day.
Before the sun came up and show the
World beautiful displays.
I wanted to write my poetry,
And recite my words,
Put curves of my life on paper
So my voice can no longer
Be heard.
I wanted to pick flowers,
Pray,
And grant wishes,
Maybe.
Just maybe,
I wanted to eat my breakfast,
And not clean the dishes.
Call it a lazy morning,
Before the sun comes up.
Its 4’oclock,
And the coffee makers is empty,
Right along with my cup.
It’s 5’oclock,
And yet the sun hasn’t risen.
I think I’ll play soft reggae.
Close my eyes,
And just listen.
It’s 6’oclock,
Maybe 6:30.
The sun is now up,
And the mocking birds
Are in a hurry.
Reggae,
And my curved lines are still
Telling a story.
It seems like
The coffee is on,
And my cup is ready.
My mind has stimulated.
My words are now written.
7’oclock is almost near,
And my coffee has started Beginning.

       Marci H.

It was almost 10 oclock, their eyes heavy as rocks, Erik and Jamal headed home
The fork in the road that they've always known to mean they tread on all alone
They made their embrace and started their pace and Erik did not hasten much
Jamal however was quick to endeavor, because mama had told him to rush
They walked their separate ways, reflected on their days, and coveted what tomorrow would bring
At that very moment, their train of thought stolen, by the bellow of sirens they sing
A large police van rolled upon each young man, and flashed a light on each of their face
They told Erik hurry, his mom needn't worry, yet they questioned young Jamal's pace
They told him get down, he got on the ground and struggled in his discomfort
Erik heard a bang in the night, that had gave him a fright, and thought to himself where'd it come from?

I have studied the tight curls on the back of your neck
moving away from me
beyond anger or failure
your face in the evening schools of longing
through mornings of wish and ripen
we were always saying goodbye
in the blood in the bone over coffee
before dashing for elevators going
in opposite directions
without goodbyes.

Do not remember me as a bridge nor a roof
as the maker of legends
nor as a trap
door to that world
where black and white clericals
hang on the edge of beauty in five oclock elevators
twitching their shoulders to avoid other flesh
and now
there is someone to speak for them
moving away from me into tomorrows
morning of wish and ripen
your goodbye is a promise of lightning
in the last angels hand
unwelcome and warning
the sands have run out against us
we were rewarded by journeys
into desire
into mornings alone
where excuse and endurance mingle
conceiving decision.
Do not remember me
as disaster
nor as the keeper of secrets
I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars
watching
you move slowly out of my bed
saying we cannot waste time
only ourselves.

I have deluded self delusions when the tick goes tock at 4'oclock,
Demons scream from the pinkish grey spongy filled with tar cells of my lungs,
The woods I wander in wondering why there I cannot breathe and you do not heed,
The warnings I whisper through your phone in a melodramatic uncondescending tone,
Met with Mrs. Plath in a black cabin to pour blood from poetic scars whilst drinking from whiskey bottles of poisonous stardust derived from a sandy beach named lost and found insecurities,
At ease my disregarded beauty ever so defined by fiction,
**** its now half past 4'oclock and all I wish to do is pollute the air with dusty ill impaired screams,
I want to scream,
I want to scream,
My blankets envelop me drowning out my ink tears as they drip drip drop stop,
Stop looking at me that way,
Stop talking to me that way,
Oh god don't hate me for my coagulated words!
Trapping myself in-between a sandwich of a multitude of feelings ghastly emotions,
Smiling depression shaking hands with bitter caramel anxiety,
Pirouetting on a trampoline of repetition,
**** it is now 5'oclock I must shut my eyes and dream of when another tick goes tock at 4'oclock.
An anonymous girl ©

Raining
Pouring
My dad’s up a ladder,

Wet,
Cold,
Attaching the reindeers antler,

Up
Down
I start to climb,

1’oclock
2’oclock
Taking too much time

To high
Wobbling
Cat’s eating the wire,

I pull
It pulls back
My patience starts to tire,

Mum
Comes out
“It’s in the wrong places”

Goes inside
We take it down
“This is going to take ages”

Cold
Tired
It’s eventually done

Inside
Warming up
“Now wasn’t that fun?”

I agape of all finished afterthought, some allude to almanac's packed of alms, some totaled, sold and bought!!
Altruism,pigism, ambiguous to ambitions own an'nals,
Some take fairies to ride, some get high getting annulled on thine way out!!!
Antagonisms councils costumed to personify perverse college boys,
They all wear ties,
Doest thou prepare to die?
Doth thou succumb to heavy metal noise? Subterfuges narrate concert speakers of noose tied voids!!!
Precious,
Precious flamboyant memorizer,
Hath thou memorized to thy fullest privelage?

Art thou the born leader thou claims to be?
Or art thou the slave of thine flattery made village?

This forlorn spirit is burdened down to be free,
To be free of all devils,
All doubts and all deed!!!

Where is ones donational vocational school grads love?
Is it hidden within lockers of broken hearted hunnies?

Doth thy stomach overflow with butterfly fluids?
While many rob you of lovers money,
Dizzy funnies!!!

Hand holders of descendants grumpy mishappers,
Where is love when one seeks so hard for it????!

Pillows lay the case to wake up past 3 oclock
Face faded in dreams make razors on cheek comfortable to me
Blond bold because i barely gave red a try
Is breakfast ready for me
Backing beauty with a blue t , turning to me all bright and free , afro messy , eyes maybe brown, maybe green
Did i mention i couldnt see
Reality just came back to me
Even tho these eyes rarely catch seas
I still see star shaped almonds in cereal bowls put before see


Meet her meteor shower plastic kungfu hopes
My mettle met with metal, she was bars for the screen
So in between things, i smell scent and add my two cents
But when change comes short,  gasoline gases up things
Thunder booms and she can never quite see was behindthe bangs
But that's another thing cause cereal is really tho
Another taste of almomd milk cheerios

im trying to decide
if this is hell
or heaven
when im eleven oclock ******
and its only seven
ive got enough
to power through until nine or ten
but then im crashing
ill be passing out
and ******* meself

Walls of wind batter the house
Its that time oclock
Bullet rain keep all inside:
willing prisoners.
And all one can feel is cold
with a sense of not really taking part in life
just a waiting for better days,
everyone and everything your teacher;
you a pupil who knows nothing and
needs to learn a lot.
The Evergreens, how do they do it?
some special chemistry the alchemy
of which is beyond thinking about
and reasons? who knows.
Until you bring God into the equation all is futile
And means nothing and then
one has to admit one knows even less.
Good enough or should enough  are not valid questions
And no answers are forthcoming.
All is dead or dying except the Evergreens
who welcome the wind and bullet rain
as their brothers and sisters.

The lake is colored a hue of purple, even though the retina is deprived of blue.
Freedom to swim, yet choosing not to.
Choosing to eat, although mandatory.
Funny how the world works. Especially while dreaming.


Wake up at 8, feeling like the amount in my pocket.
2 dollars and 47 cents. Illegally consumed.

Breakfast at 9, ****** eggs again. We eat in silence.

After breakfast I am forced to the yard, forced to smoke, with no gun to my head.

Run run, shoot, steal. Basketball used to be fun.

1 oclock, and I decide to read. Not much choice on activities, but a crate full of books to read. Yet what's the point?
Why fill my mind with wild dreams? Wishing the problems of the protagonists were my own?

The cell is colored a hue of gray, and yes my retinas can manage.
Freedom to think, no choice but to.
Choosing to eat, but why not?
Funny how prison works, especially when it's reality.

Wake up at 7, the nap was delicious.
Pockets are empty, and with two cigarettes to show for it.

Dinner at 8. Oh **** it, its the same **** every day.
Sleep by 9.

Oh mother dear, where do I begin?

I do love you, mommy,
I love you like a venomus snake,
in which I run from,
hoping to find shelter in my own mind,
I run and I run and I run,
only to find myself back again,
because as much as I want to distance myself,
from the mistakes you've made,
I find myself drawn to the idea of change,
but who am I kidding?

In the back of my mind,
I know you'll never change,
I know you'll only get stuck deeper in your current ways,
the way you need the ***** and the ****,
just to cope with the mistakes you've made,
because you've never forgiven yourself, for everything you failed to change,
and you'll never realize,
that drinking yourself into a coma, won't change a ******* thing,
but mommy, I love you, as you love me,
in the only way we will ever know,

We live in a small town,
you live upstairs, and I live below,
where I listen to you stomp about your little home,
you were never light on your feet,
and I can hear almost every move you make,
which is kind of comforting,
for if I can hear you, I know,
you have not yet went on your daily trip,
to that little store you head to every morning, around the same gravely time,
9 oclock the liquor store opens, and down the block you go, for your first dose of poison,
its not very comforting to know,
your slowing killing yourself with deadly liquids,

You my dear, are the reason I hate alcohol,
the reason I swore I'd never become you,
it all leads back to you,
the reason I can't sleep sometimes,
just thinking about the one I call mom,
and the way she started life mistakes early,
thinking about the way you started drinking at just barely fourteen,
maybe it wasnt your fault,
maybe you were lead to the bottle,
by some events around you,
can we possibly blame your mother,
was she cruel, did she not love you?
I will never ask you these things,
but may I say, curiouser and curiouser, I do get as time goes on,
who made you like this? or was it all on your own?

I can't help but believe you'll never get better,
you'll always be a mom by day and a drinker by night,
and sometimes, a drinker full time,
stomping about with your ever so heavy steps,
if i'd never met you, I'd swear you were a hundred pounds heavier,
just from the way you walked,
and sometimes fell, tumbling to the ground,
breaking skin into cuts i'm curious about the day after,
and you just say you fell,
you don't tell the truth,
I'd really rather you just say, okay, fine, it happened when I was *******,
and still drinking,
because as the saying goes,
one is one too many,
one more, is never enough,
which is why you drink until you can keep your eyes open, no more,
and then is the time you finally hit the floor,
to wake up confused the next morning,
only to start all over again,
this be the cycle of the one I call mommy,
mother dearest, I love you,
in the best of ways,
I love you so, that I can only be honest when I say,
you have a problem and you need to change,
but just the same,
I love you, as you love me,
in the only way, we will ever know

It’s 8 o’clock, and I just felt the day,
Pick up so swiftly, drift gently away.
It’s pushing and shoving straight on, past my face.
I’m dizzied and dazed contemplating my name.
Ohhhooowooaaahoooohoooh
Contemplating my name ~
It’s 9 o’clock, and I’m in the city on foot.
Got nowhere to go,
No one expectin me, too’
Find myself in the gutter,
Where there I mutter,
Ohhhooowooaaahoooohoooh
“What’s the real point of all this?”
Born just to die
For what? Who is this “I”?”
Oh “Buddha” brother, so what’s the name of our “mother?”
I ain’t got no religion,
But we’re all “one” that’s the vision.
A culmination of spirit,
Lost in a haze half transparent,
The mass lull on the back of these meaningless religions.
Ohhhooowooaaahoooohoooh
What is your name? ~
Paradiso? Inferno?
Which is your claim?
Just gotta wait until they put up your stake.
Ohhhooowooaaahoooohoooh
It’s now 10 o’clock so I pick myself up,
and trudge on back home,
I’ve got mud in my shoes and in my hair too.
Another night out being reckless, a fool
And well Ohhhooowooaaahoooohoooh
“what else is there to do?”
Because in all of these seconds of meaningless expression,
The gutter it listens and the sky smiles back.
A silver sliver so sly and direct
I just checked the clock it’s midnight exact.
Made it home, rest gently to bed.
We all gotta die, just don’t tell me when.

We followed the road for six hundred miles, there were no turnings off except one in all that length . The South Australian desert seemed endless.
We eventually landed at Maralinga on a newly constructed runway with new buildings and workshops, we were impressed to see it all, but we were not allowed to hang about, a peppery little sergeant directed us  to a waiting vehicle, and we were driven to the camp, there were quite a few buildings, offices and stores mostly. But there were three messes, an officers mess, a seargeants mess and an airmans mess, all of the buildings were temporary- corrugated iron roofs and walls, which could get hot enough to burn any unprotected skin. We reported for duty and were allocated a small two man tent each. My tent was located at the end of a long row, there were about three hundred tents I believe, Gordon's tent was located at the opposite side to mine, he was required to work in the decontamination unit, I was to work in the cookhouse- a humble cook's assistant. I grew to love cooking and still do! At that time all national sevice men were only allotted assistant trades, that was ok by me, I loved to eat as well as the next man! Working in the mess was unbearably hot during the day, but pleasant enough at night. The Australian food was excellent, and there was plenty of it. One thing that surprised me was the size of the potatoes, you only got about thirty to a hundred weight, and they were often hollow, caused by the rapid growing season and the sudden start of the dry season. I had the tent to myself. Almost! During the night, a large Iguana-which lived under the duckboards in my tent- would come out of his hole and climb up the side of my tent, between the actual tent and the fly sheet, then it would slide down the other side. this was repeated half a dozen times every night! Some times I used to drop pieces of meat down for it. Then I discovered that there were other less welcome guests! So I stopped feeding them. The first night that I slept there I was puzzled to see a great pile of blankets on the bed, thirteen in all, I thought that must be for two beds. That night when I lay down  to sleep, I only used one blanket, the night was reasonably warm at that time, I woke up later feeling cold, and added another blanket.  This process continued until I had all of the blankets on my bed. The night time temperature plummetted almost to freezing!  One morning when we were off duty after working all night, I and my friends climbed the one hundred foot high water tower to sunbathe. Big mistake, the silver painted tank grew hotter until by ten 'oclock it was too hot to touch, fortunately we had a blanket each, but decending a one hundred foot tower when all the metalwork, including the steel ladder is too hot to touch is a tricky and dangerous pastime!  More anon.

i told my mother
this place haunted me in my sleep
feverish
sweet-syrupy, drowning in other people's memories

he reminds me of someone a long time ago
small and broken
tough, i even remember
that other person saying
if he ever got a tattoo, it would be a smiley face
on his arm--
exactly the same as the one this boy has.
he wakes up with the dust of last night's numbness
in his eyes, washes it out first thing with a warm beer
and stumbles around the ***** glasses, tripping
over the bits of broken rules on the floor, fumbling
for a slightly crumpled cigarette.
he says good morning when it's three oclock in the afternoon,
because bedtime was nine am, and creatures only come out at night--
because he feels safer in the dark,
because there's something
inside him that cracked once
and will never grow back, something inside him
that i bruised and made him give to me, made him hold me
as if i were the damaged one.

i know these small dark spaces so well--
i sleep right next to them, try not to roll over
and fall in. these cavities dark like
dilated pupils, huge and haunting, pulling the light away
i remember this face but i don't know
where have we met? you couldn't be the boy i knew
and yet
you're so familiar.

Sleeps a myth.
Red eyed, at 3:00 super markets
I’m there just because their open
Four cups of coffee and a dollar tea
I’m not any thing.
The only light be the moon and the blue smoke laces
Of cigarettes and the flashback glasses
Three phone calls and I answer everyone
He pleads desperately for words I don’t have
And for word I have no way of knowing
Nosh on a truck stop sandwich and try to find the watershed of my back days
Dreams in the dunk take that lead me to this bed without comfort
Contemplate connections concerning the girl whose half work knowing
I go home
It is 4’Oclock
A good and godless hour
But I want faith
Thinking back, yesterday was the start of today
Make that four phone calls, a rerun
Make that five phone calls, a rerun
Casablanca and a warm blanket
Problem is it’s hot out
“play it again Sam“.  The phone rings.

the sun sets at 4'oclock central time
it's not right, it's not real

and when I turn off the lights and sit in silence.
I am in a constant state of overstimulation


I want it all

It's 5 o'clock and my world seems bleak once again, surrounded by the same ecompassing shade of remorse that it was last year

It's five oclock and I think I've remembered the art of despising myself but most importantly someone else too because sometimes I forget good enough isn't possible

It's five o'clock and the shadows surrounding my room are that familiar kind of inviting - the kind that doesn't need make up and cheekbones and ediquette and good grades

It's five o'clock and I just want a ******* break for once in my life

its one oclock
and i'm scared of the dark
why can't I be scared of snakes-
but I guess if its night
and I hear a hiss in the quiet,
Christ, that gives me the shakes.

Sleeps a myth.
Red eyed, at 3:00 super markets
I’m there just because their open
Four cups of coffee and a dollar tea
I’m not any thing.
The only light be the moon and the blue smoke laces
Of cigarettes and the flashback glasses
Three phone calls and I answer everyone
He pleads desperately for words I don’t have
And for word I have no way of knowing
Nosh on a truck stop sandwich and try to find the watershed of my back days
Dreams in the dunk take that lead me to this bed without comfort
Contemplate connections concerning the girl whose half work knowing
I go home
It is 4’Oclock
A good and godless hour
But I want faith
Thinking back, yesterday was the start of today
Make that four phone calls, a rerun
Make that five phone calls, a rerun
Casablanca and a warm blanket
Problem is it’s hot out
“play it again Sam“.  The phone rings.

The drunken dance of our war torn hearts are just the echo of a better time in my shattered mind....
The laughter of the peak of hapiness is just a cruel mask to temporary solitude...
Bring me back to my home or at least the castle in memories and stay safe in my arrogant tower...
Let your pedastal stand in hoarded surroundings so my clutter looks up to something...
Ill pull myself together and break the spell of shattered dreams only to make the moment seem beautiful....
But dont look back or the five oclock shadow of a broken man will engulf the joy i see in your eyes....
I disappear into the nothingness created by my wisdom to let her be free....
And as i watch her leave she takes the last breath of pure air in my vaccuum of heartache...

An  Inanimate  object.

I,m  a TV  set  you  see  tuned  in  to  BBC.
Sometimes  they  like  the­  soaps.
ITV  gives  me  the  goat.
They  stand  and  curse  and ­ swear.
Ten  oclock  news  is  somewhere  there.
Im  left  in  a ­ corner  all  alone.
Till  the  family  come  back  home.
Then  t­hey  stand  and  fight.
I  was  much  better  off  when  Black  a­nd  White.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

Do you want to save
Tonight?
And use the lamp like you
Say?
I see a raging river in your
Eyes.

Another bend to the sea
We swing back and forth
Heart’s in my mouth
You make a full circle
@ 3’oclock in the morning.

Wish you stayed just two blocks
I’d not run away
From a romantic supper
You know your eyes burn like
Cigarettes.

First in the woods and
Then across the canyon
I go down wondering
In cold like in eastern sense
Only to find you playing with
Pebbles in the silence.


© Wanderer 2015

I feel like my mind is coked out and im a zombie, wandering aimlessly through this abyss we call life. Brain dead, scarred to do anything about it. There are days I feel like I could lift skyscrapers, and then there are theses days where im alone, inside dead and struggling to do anything with my life. In my head its going 300 miles an hour, but I move so slow and pathetic on the outside. The very thing that keepa me alive is whats killing me. How ironic? I had dreams and goals. High school cheerleaders I still needed to ****. **** random girls at lalapaoza. Do something epic with my friends ill never forget no matter what I put in my body... but responsibility and regret took my selfish goals and dreams out the Window. Dont pitty me, because I dont. I know I ****** myself over plenty of times due to me being a lazy *******. I still have these illusions of possibilities, of a better life. None that has me in the bathroom of my buddies house snorting death off the back of his toilet seat.  Or taking my happy meds right before some ****** looks at my girl and I beat his face in with a socket wrench. I had have to leave and jump from town to town to hide from me mind. I dont have multiple personalities... I have regretsyndrom, its ******* over the girl of your dreams with her cousin and hoping she doesn't find out. Arrogant ******* he is. Cant keep a ******* girl even if it were to save his pathetic life. He really is a ***** on the inside. The little ****** cries at the end of my girl and Charlie st cloud... but hes "hard" nothing but a wanna be... blames it on his regret for a girl... shut up dude he loved her. If he loved her we wouldnt have tryed to be with her cousin because we got bored. Whose we? You didnt say **** because you were too worried she would find out. Well she did, didnt she? Oh like you are always right... just like you thought it was a good idea to **** your step sister...? Huh? *******. Iys 9 oclock larry you need to to take your meds again... what? Answer the telephone. Larry your meds...! Answer the telephone steveie! Leave me alone. There's no Larry or Stevie here... no ringing... and I cant take medicine... go away... hello?
Well im alone again... uh great =/ come back guys...?

There’s a horror in the city
but it’s always Halloween in someone’s basement
in the suburbs the closets are inundated with skeletons
each dressed in friendly attire
but never opening the door
the neighbors always watching through sheer curtains
binoculars at the ready
instead of candy on doorsteps
there’s signs of beware of the maniac with the pistol
locked and loaded watching the 6’oclock news
no apocalypse is breaking into our windows tonight
there’s a hum and it’s making all the locals go mad
they still haven’t figured out it’s the cicadas
not demons in their trees looking for a discount lunch
the desert is a harsh place when the sun is
drawn sloppily on the right hand corner of a page
the houses all uniformed for the drought to come
each manicured lawn is a haunting for the
unemployed drunk in the nearby trailer park
the ghosts of those whose Christmas
doesn’t come in stockings but stalking
and restraining orders
the spookiest part is not the
slasher hotels or the creature feature
shows at the bars and clubs
but the calm, serene and unsettling
manner in which everyone congregates
on Sunday morning to be cleansed
of impurities, each smile stretching farther and farther
until the seconds drip into communion wine
until the hours dissolve in one’s mouth like god’s flesh
reinvented, resuscitated, resurrected

Arise, my brothers
for the pastor is watching
there’s a twinkle in his eyes
and there are boys missing after every ceremony
but no one questions why