959

A loss of something ever felt I—
The first that I could recollect
Bereft I was—of what I knew not
Too young that any should suspect

A Mourner walked among the children
I notwithstanding went about
As one bemoaning a Dominion
Itself the only Prince cast out—

Elder, Today, a session wiser
And fainter, too, as Wiseness is—
I find myself still softly searching
For my Delinguent Palaces—

And a Suspicion, like a Finger
Touches my Forehead now and then
That I am looking oppositely
For the site of the Kingdom of Heaven—

Expression of emotion should never be oppressed
Trust me i know how to yell, you taught me very well,
But this is merely speaking
Hear me when I say I want to cry until we’re floating in the Dead Sea
And my heart no longer curses me with the density to sink
Im trying to escape this catastrophe,
But you coerce until my original thoughts become extinct
Hear me when i say i want to shriek until my reflection shatters
And my soul can equally and oppositely be repaired
Someday i hope my insides can scream as loud as they desire
When ill no longer live under your pharisaical empire
You want me to follow the road you paved for me,
Never falling astray,
but I guess you forget that respect goes both ways
Trust me i know how to yell, you taught me very well
But this is nowhere near
Expression of emotion should never be oppressed.

Have you watched them scale the mountain?

i did.
i felt it.

they are a swarm
red and pink and orange
tightly knit
and drag through goo

crescending river
flow oppositely

it is not a volcano
will not erupt
but pools
and waits
acidic and tangy
a trigger

i have felt them
i am everest

I told her, "I wanna write a song with you."

Her immediate reaction didn't seem very musical. But she managed to wash down her reluctance with a glass of my enthusiasm. It looked a little too hard to swallow though.


Between you and me... I think she just didn't want to hurt my feelings...

Knew that anything musical we might share in this space would come at a price. Having played piano in the past, she knows…. that every…  key... requires effort. Every chord requires contact, every verse must be attacked every note ... needs impact.

Channeling all that we are and hearing the universe equally and oppositely react. Like science ... She knows there's chemistry in this musical contract.

And between you and me... I think she's scared to do that.

She houses pipes that were silenced a while back. Now all noise is mute, all lyrics refute, and the tones are all flat.

She is a little mermaid.
A villain stole her voice at the promise of companionship… and nower days what a bargain that is. String up your vocal chords and I'll meet each pained utterance with a kiss. Make a hostage of your own tongue and I will grant you bliss. I'll be the hiccup in your throat, the stutter in your sentence my sweet nothings will be the only sound you hear. The only tune you’ll dance to. The only lyrics you know.

She ... was choked, by an individual who was  more shark than he was man, more predator that he was person, and after all that submersion she can’t look at love without feeling like she’s downing.

Between you and me, I think when her fin was torn into a pair of feet she found it difficult to find any other fish in the sea. Violence is nobodies natural habitat. But like I said was silenced a while back. She made to believe that like every note, each future affection would require impact. And between you and me… I really wanna change that.

I told her “I wanna write a song with you”. Not to test whether she is musically faceted but rather to see if she is still passionate. I wanted to see if my prayers had reached you yet… I wanted you to be okay. Little mermaid who was washed  away. I wanted to is you fire stayed, to see  you recuperate. In your time at sea you overcome bigger waves.  So… sing.
Understand that are the most wonderful lyricist and  your pitch and tone are not a akin heartache and woe, you can be loud. Be proud in knowledge that any music you make is only the overture, only the beginning to a symphony called “done with this ****”. I will hear no requiem, you’ll play no finale. The stage is not a battleground. Let there be no more tears in which to drown, sing! Sing and make sea sirens jealous of how mermaids sound

I struggle.
the stress of it.
not worth the result it produces.
You smile.
the strain of it.
not worth the sadness it reduces.

You cry.
always alone.
always in the deepness of night.
I find.
never soon enough.
new ways to bring the light.

I am.
turned the wrong right way round.
making me consistently inconsistent.
You are.
a compass of life.
caring, giving, patient and persistent.

You wear.
a mask of lives.
a carefully constructed web of lies.
I bring.
a depth of right.
that your strength of will defies.

We are.
two sides.
always oppositely opposing.
We share.
impossibly.
the feelings we're imposing.

I struggle.
no more.
careworn becomes carefree.
You smile.
a passion filled effort.
as it always was meant to be.

The first lines are always the hardest to cross
For they're unbroken segments of a beginning;
A new story to tell/ told from a different perspective
Intended to refresh and revitalize your eyes
And your Heart
Starting with your desire to live free
Oppositely of a stand/ a quick wash in the rain
As crazy as it sounds all lines can break
Pulled taught to the point tensions snap
Our bridge and one becomes two
The real value of the lines we cross
Is they're crossed with you

Contradiction
Impossible, it captivates:
Alone while surrounded,
Crumbling while steadfast,
Contentedly miserable,
Actively apathetic,
The lazy activist,
Cynically optimistic,
Knowledgably ignorant,
Falling from support,
A teary smile.

It is all of us;
But mostly it is me,
Out of balance with no direction to go.

Then there’s my reference;
Wayward and fleeting,
It has arrived with new purpose.
It is hear to stay.

Yet my reference is also a contradiction,
As unbalanced as I.
But where I am black it is white,
Empty where I overflow,
Floating when I sink

Yet, as chaotic static can become equal to silence,
Or many waves will calm each other;
So is my reference.
My mirror
And how better to see yourself but through a mirror?

My reference is my mirror
Oppositely identical;
And so we too are a contradiction
How unlikely?
How fated.

stop.
breathe.
slow.
leeee.

my heart races as i watch your gentle paces but everything you do seems gentle and every time i see you it's monumental because my mind moves so fast it even falls behind itself as if a thousand thoughts are moving, but with stealth, because as i see you walking by, each second seems to beckon a thousand more thoughts, leaving me a thousand times more fraught with emotions i never do process, yet in acknowledging this i have made progress, progress that will undoubtedly be undone by some internal battle that remains unwon and unlost, a stalemate between two sides fighting for the same thing, my hands stuck to my face like a magnet to a steel plate, two things uniting oppositely charged particles, as my brain continues to write this long, boring, hopeless article, understanding that as you walk away, the feeling doesn't stay... and everything.... slows..... down...... in....... the........ worst......... kind.......... of........... way............

don't.
leave.
love.
meeee.

So why do you say it with such a disdained voice?
Is it not beggars choice that reveals thee?
Do you aim to hurt in return?
Not knowing another way to be kind,
Why do one thing and say another?
Are your promises nothing more than dust in the wind?
Your claim to some enlightened state,
While the reality of you exists oppositely.
You cannot fathom the consequences of the projection you put on and take off,
Alls well that may end well,
But with your choices will you?

Trust me i know how to yell, you taught me very well,
But this is merely speaking

I thought if I screamed you'd finally
Hear me when I say I want to cry until we’re floating in the Dead Sea
And my heart no longer curses me with the density to sink

I thought you might feel the teeth gnawing inside
These bones, these veins
Ripping my heart and destroying my brain
But of course you didn't, I've done this since I was five

Im trying to escape this catastrophe,
But you coerce until my original thoughts become extinct
Hear me when i say i want to shriek until my reflection shatters
And my soul can equally and oppositely be repaired
Someday i hope my insides can scream as loud as they desire
When ill no longer live under your pharisaical empire

Trust me i know how to yell, you taught me very well
But this is nowhere near

Oppositely drectioned forces
Make a whirling pool
They drag in and out the particles
From the vacuum

The array of choices
Lies unread locked away
It requires interest
Entropy waylays

The diagrams are skewed
In a wind inward
That is captured
In line of word

The pull is downwards
Arbitrary assignations
Make that so;
Graphite legitimations

there are nights and days

I started to think

had enough struggles

had enough pain

surprisingly, the thought worked

quite oppositely

I involved in

many tough situations which I am not

able to handle

when real enthusiasm came

situations got cleared

like dark clouds after the rain.

Life I don't get it

your schemes and plans

I just want to be a spectator

you drive me to the future

am surrendered

why is the classical concept of
poetry, still associated with philosophy?
that vogue should have died
with heidegger, in the 20th century,
yet it still persists!
                nothing, written by a poet
is worth comparison to a paragraph of
immaculate musing...
                i'm in no defence of the latter
method...
   there is nothing essential about
making comparison between poetry
and philosophy...
           poetry is blind, in the face of
having to compete with journalism,
there is no tabloid-poetic,
    -poetics, given the weight of
technique to handle it as: identifiable...
what is there to be identified about
poetics?
            cubes, expressions,
the sur-reality of dreams?
        common threads?
               the tabloid of the worm's
genesis, becomes a ******'s gridlock
into the sewers at the end of the day...
papier-mâché...
               poetry can't compete with
journalism,
        in the same way that it couldn't
be deemed a worthy
opponent of philosophy...
   up-my-own-****-and-ready-to-bite
my-own-testicles-off...
             ah... but pouring a pint,
was always going to be easier than
industrial roofing, wasn't it?
                   now all humpty-dumpty
is to care about is: what other
people either "think" or "feel"...
because the question self-prompts
itself:
            so... why would i really want
to give a ****, about what you "think"?!
can't you just shut up, and actually: think?!
i love the argument contra "feeling"...
i love it because it's self-defeating
in the sense of: i really don't care what
you "think"...
  freedom of speech, a mighty seasaw:
                                    
                                                 feel
                         speech            
think

               vic. versus...
                      erm... what's the difference?
i'm starting to find the "thinking" ones
being claustrophobic in their thinking,
that they need a freedom, namely a freedom
to speak, to be allowed a freedom to feel...
oppositely? those with the "freedom" to feel,
have no freedom to think...
which makes their freedom of speech:
blah blah blah, dog whistles, etc.

to say that rumor has it
is to say that the World Trade Center
collapsed silently and cleanly like
oppositely sexed Siamese twins
who discovered they could mate
I had all channels going full bore
aiming at involuntary insemination
with the aid of a two-handled clam rake
now there's an archetype of malevolence
just how many categories are there anyhow
an infinity an eternity you decide
rumor has it on very good authority
There may be more than one infinity
however eternity is but an extrapolation
of the next easy 10 minutes
who would want to spend it only there
a money robot trapped in labor
dead in a puddle of break time ****
insert your domain name here
a world gone heavily annotated
yearning for the dagger of love
whine your last you holy landlords
at a time when rent is the anomaly
where anomalies are just signals
this isn't a broken-hearted paperback
or a lightning burn to the head
the big eye on the horizon says
he's trying to mathematically figure out
how far to take the next extinction
but is unsure whether to come to us again
as a mystic sophist or a yodeling yokel
we've come out of the dark place
into the frozen lips dimness
looking for aids to navigation
having discovered the secret entrance
clues were left everywhere
let's hope it ends with clean sheets
because I just found out my guardian angel
is a rottweiler with a missing leg
and just as many teeth
one eye is a ball bearing
the other a shotgun barrel
loaded with pillow mints
he rides a mean skateboard
propelled across a landscape
of food and *** smells
no wonder I'm on the run
from my very own mother

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon