"ooznozz" poems
An empty drinking glass is pressed against a wall; amplifying the voices on the other side. My ear is pressed to the words, ”outside is a secret key” - I can honestly say, “I hear…" Your words, idealizations, sentiments, selected scrawls of graffiti-type promise and viewpoints echo through the wall. Over and over. Championing outsiders…
Are there WALLS WITHIN WALLS? Can we walk through them? ARE THE WALLS ERASABLE? Will the walls tumble down? Will the walls polarize? WHAT ABOUT CRACKS IN THE WALLS? Can they hear? Can we leap over them?
DO WE build them where everything and anything follows and flows?
DO WE build them where something's nothingness tethers vapors with souls?
DO WE build them so molecular melodies of light and dark can collide unopposed?
Are these word walls of dust? Can we move them? Can you angle between these walls? Will the walls speak a wealth of quiet surprises, poems, and meditations? Do walls give birth to improvisation?
Now some of these walls, in their moment are with no rules, self-constructed, circling dramatically, and might prove more resistant to erosion. These are often troubling walls, no voice, no strength of decency, no laughter, which place freedom at stake. That and survival. One can be easily manipulated or yanked by an image of the truth swirling in the brick blackness of the wall. Discomforts relish now. Walls such as these are very deep-rooted and passed on for generations. Yet even those barriers eventually give way once we read the super fine print etched into the wall - a word salad of B.S., idiocy and hypocrisy.
Reach for spray-paint and enlarge your wall… maybe it enhances your world now with colored aerosols of wall portraiture's that capture rebellion and mirth. So many Walls, AND SO MANY QUERIES…
I heard a poem say, “Step out from behind one (wall) and FIND YOUR REAL SELF” – or maybe it whispered “jus walk through that door in the wall.”
Your tightly strung trampoline of words has provided a springboard for me to bounce freely over the many walls we build around ourselves.
by "ooznozz"
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
The rawness, the element of risk at the entrance to my anger… malleable as soft clay... Black curtains... never ending; mental state fractures and the pièce de résistance: unable to find a sense of comfort through the stillness - Step over its threshold, into my space where i have frayed angel hair (a tangled mess) from rebellious fingers of tumultuous running through it
Yes, i get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep, engaging in a thorough, exhaustive rethinking night after night.
Thinking that if i look away, it might be gone by the time i look back
Ambling onto this stage of even bigger drama,
My soul is a battleground,
DARKNESS, the chosen color of my odyssey...
AND dialed up t’fail
There’s a nagging sense that actions have no consequences and rules are being made up; a slumping trail mixes among unsettled footing on a ledge of well-stocked missed directions –
There’s a flickering neon sign with its defective tubes, smelling funny and humming noise…
Reminding me of the fact that there is no stirring narrative word – FUMFUH’d again / pulling the rug from under my feet, a flapping numb – brain think, as it is with most who write and then fall off the page
by "ooznozz"
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
When reading Wm. Burroughs i fall virtually invisible while moonbeams and razor blades take a fresh scalp, mine. Tearing loose from his torn pages and the cracked book spine of this person, i still hear words echoing, "Ahh, the dice cannot read their own spots"
----------------
“Erosion”, forget-me-not…“Erosion”,
When i **** UP,
It’s a true 10 on a 10 scale.
Maybe even a…Last gasp?!?
My inner voice spoke softly ‘bout loud issues
"Stay an inch or two outta kicking distance”…
And “take note of the sanity lost.”
Gah, yes, i know. It’s time to go down in the basement of my mind. It is damp and musty, poorly lit, a very low ceiling and in places very dark. It is an underground space and what you see is very much like what you’d see when a large rock is lifted up off a damp floor – ugly basement-like Things that are scurrying ‘bout. Hey jus’ maybe this is my Naked Luncheonette imagination working overtime and thinking, “Hmm, whatever” – Bottom-line; this is the place i wanna be at...
Said the ugly basement-like Thing…
”THE CRAP YOU ARE ABOUT TO STEP INTO AT THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE IS DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE POETS WHO…UNDERSTAND ME AND MISUNDERSTAND ME AS WELL AS, TO ALL THE ‘HEELS’, WHO WOULD JUST LOVE TO STAND ON ME”
STEP HERE ——> AND THEN THERE..
With skin in the game @ THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE
i’m poking ‘round in the archaeological digs
of a used and improbably mind.
Reaching out, grabbing small handfuls of "what was once"...
Fumbling among the skipped parts
& then finding that my tongue
is the enemy, of my well executed smarts…?
----------------
i throw the dice, built from the bones (i cling onto ‘em like a life raft) of my once-upon-a-time friends.
All are gone, all but one.
The one on each die that tumbles away from me
i keep on lookin' away when i stare down at ‘em… screaming SNAKE EYES in frustration
i know not to mess with the snake eyes when flesh circulates as payment.
----------------
“Echo, tears, embodiment” says the angel as i fall upon my knees
by 'ooznozz"
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Wormy gorgon of the fugly garbage gorgon's has a very sad an' lowly life indeed. She curses an' antagonizes a cancer fighter instead of sending her sincere good wishes an' a heartfelt expressed Godspeed.
On her best day, she exemplifies all the characteristics of a mean spirited, moronic jag off misanthrope whose only desire is to plant a very bad weedy seed. Her angry tongue splinters an' then bullies.
My wish is t’have fingers of tumultuous jostle you – attempting to throw you hard toward kingdom-come…
Human suffering,
“Can this drama, the supreme embodiment of the human condition, possibly be okay?”
My stomach knots.
---------------------------
Often not much has changed in our actual life –
Yes, I get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep,
Thinking that if I look away,
You might be gone by the time I look back.
(This has been) a Creeping ode to the aftereffects of a small minded twerp…
by "ooznozz"
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
Ghostly scars searching; murky and lively waters provide a forceful and ill advised navigable pull of a wave. The seas play tug-of-war with me and this rueful rolling mix of waves, as ill-tempered breezes under a sailor’s dead moon illuminates in silence the cold ships that are still afloat on bludgeoning white caps of yesteryear.
This old pirate moon hangs freely while singing ‘bout our lord, and death –shapeless now and not conforming, it sails in the black beauty of space-time reaching out with its waspishly fingers attempting to eat a foray of phantom ships in the blackish night.
Churning old waves, it stirs the gulls in flight, which are quietly viewed from the mast of those ghost ships that once plied the seas, searching still, and seeking those turbulent clouds that resemble an old sailor in the dizzying stillness among liquid moonbeams and their razor-like glow;
“Oh, the shark,
Babe, she has such teeth, dear / and it shows
Those pearly whites”…
Your whispered messages are a potent voice.
And every splash sounds like applause among the jagged rocks along my imagination’s coastline...
How deathly afraid was i now of your hurtful waves?
Flowing outward with an undulating motion, a forceful agitation-
Revealing my reflection, now anchored to this mournful nightlight,
Illuminating the "uh-oh's" swimming across
my cold sailor’s
trembling mouth-
by "ooznozz"
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
Yellow streak right up the spine
I am reviled by your architecture of aggression
I can't laugh,
can't turn 'round, and run from it, man
Goddamit, something must've gone wrong
How these
whirlwinds of pressure
whip and blister
They are oh so terribly
cruel.
Yes; you blacken!
And bully!
Why bellow?
I'm yellow
This build up
Is making me
Blue...
And I don't know whether or not
I can weather or knot this storm anymore
'cause
The forecast says, I'M BLOWIN'
MY COOL!
Where's the helping hand?
Roaring through my head, “Survival such a silly whim…”
Forgotten things remembered, these cobwebs make me squint
Black curtains... never ending
"looking down the cross", my skull beneath the skin
rub it, now offer your death kiss to me
Like a genie in a bottle make a wish - May the past "rest in peace"…
Next thing you know, you'll take my thoughts away
Unable to beg salvation from the empty skies…
and what sanity is left has become my hideout
Forgotten things remembered
I go up into my hideout
One last look at visions in my brain as I tiptoe through its darkness
I've burned from a mental overload
Live and die within my heart is always the quickest way out
by "ooznozz"
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
Overall verbal smack down view of the philosophy -
Do not refer to the shade of a person to describe someone. That’s just plain mean. No, no, no… You identify a person by the color of their core which should not be a patina; a surface sheen. It’s a beautiful glistening of all the prism colors within “the light” at ones core that rules – if you don’t project this amazing color wheel aura then the bleak and dark center reveals you to be the fool.
by "ooznozz"
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
Is being alone antisocial?
When I start to feel uncomfortable,
I take a deep breath and I try to take the pressure off myself,
and let my heart and thoughts
control these difficult moments.
I’ve learned more about myself than I ever did
when surrounded by others - Insincere smiles and its relationship to the world around it creates erosion of civil life and private dignity...
No one plans to be alone. I certainly didn’t.
There are some days when I’m lonely and I cry,
but with each day that passes, I’m learning I can do things by myself. But when I do venture outside to see the world, I know that I can do it on my own and NOT worry ‘bout anyone sharking into my waters.
by "ooznozz"
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
a tilt of the face communiqué / 's cool, and bad at the same time / it becomes your advantage / a suggestion takes flight / there's a straightforward coyness / so i twitch, writhe, and laugh internal / a scared lamenting chortle / a painful squirm / i'm unable to line up the edges of this mysteriousness / you fade in, and then out / i suffer acutely / i'm at a dead end / in the silence of your smile / moonbeams are razor sharp / showing deep cuts / while wordless nanoseconds morph into uh oh's / yes, you sharked into my waters / there's an uncertainty of trust / gnashing 'n gnawing / as real life goes, some things never change / as tears reverse my invisibility
by "ooznozz"
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 7:52 AM UTC
Uh oh,
That smile curls up like page corners; it masquerades
As great power with great social rewards
Profound body language…?
Jus' a few words are spelled out with expression ‘round those lips
And then reads as such - “please, **** me”
I must remember and promise myself to practice
... Safe text!
by "ooznozz"
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 9:23 AM UTC
i used to control and command - now, one day i started telling everyone that god ****** something must’ve gone wrong. My brain had been dissolved in the roaring circuitry that flows far within this skull beneath the skin…
i’m playing tug-of-war with this rueful rolling mix of fading memories, truth blackens all vision while remorse burns introspection until blurred.
i am helplessly helpless, no restoration. It’s uncensored, uncontained, and thoroughly problematic as whirlwinds of self-analysis trigger a flapping numb. It isn't a question of if, but “when will” the shadows be caught in the act…
i’ve been marked it’s finished, done -
And as result, i have No voice (it’s been turned off), there’s no strength of decency …And certainly no laughter.
i bemoan, “There’s so much bitterness and bad memories consigned”…My ghostly scars are a potent drug, and i’m knocked to my knees. Yes, the ticking clock comes singing / all angry and accusatory.
i bemoan, “That which is pushed eventually must fall over”
And freedoms breath is cupped with this action, a suffocating squeeze,
And maybe even… It’s all scary especially when i hear the question echo from your lips -
What hurts?
By “ooznozz”
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 5:13 AM UTC
I SAW THE BEST MINDS OF MY GENERALIZATION
wearing halos of fog,
opening their eyes with a burst of surreal an' shattering
the beacon of light
with a splatter of the gray matter... afterwards it all became
so fug'n trite.
I'm phrasing perfect with a hint of propulsive barb'd barkin'
—Man, I am aching to blather,
**** man, it's more than butt-cheek chatter—
it BBBBBBBBBButt bubbles with a puhcussive tootin';
a howl absurd!
I raise a cup & say cheers t' Allen Ginsberg
"O BLOATED BLUES an' DECIBELS DANCE
t'BALLYHOO'd BE-BOP FLUNG
An' BOMBS BUSTIN OPEN with Gear's CLAWING
t'BE AIRBORNE",
Yes, he SITs IN a SPACE SHARE'd with us;
finger snappin' & poetry clappin' from
a heavenly ladder's rung...
A MAD HATTER's CHINA TEACUP is filled
with continuous soft crackling liveliness of effervescence...
and buoyed by the holy soul jelly roll that moves
through here now.
So let us praise and bestow upon him,
a heartfelt bow before we etch on the walls
of my primitive pome cave
our beatnik chorale reverberation of "AND HOW!"
By "ooznozz"
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 7:57 AM UTC
Snow on the mountain top nose no course of action
An inhale with nuance assures such satisfaction
While blowback will cancel one an’ alls reaction
by "ooznozz"
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
Jus’ remember princess and I say that fondly, that “looking at cleavage is like looking at the sun. You don’t stare at it ‘cause it is all too risky. You get a sense of it and then you look away!”
by "ooznozz"
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 5:46 AM UTC
Meticulous ******* punching everything together; perfect!
By "ooznozz"
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC