"pledging" poems
walking through the woods i was surrounded by a plethora of golden bronze amber leaves tumbling in the wind sparkling with a star fire that evanesced from their jagged edges upon their descent. i stood entranced, mesmerized, utterly hypnotized by their glorious magnificence. i observed with intensity as a golden bronze amber leaf never having been attached to the majestic tree had no need to let go but gently released. feeling no trepidation it wholly lacked desire for manipulation to control the forces of the wind. i watched in awe and wonder realizing that it never disengaged from the tree knowing that separation is an illusion; it simply became the wind. whirling it shimmered in the autumn sun as it wafted with no need for reins allowing its destination to unfold. gingerly cascading it settled tenderly on the ground resting comfortably in ambivalence. i sensed it did not cringe when it was picked up by an unsuspecting boot but intuitively knew immediately that it was being carried and dropped off serendipitously at an auspicious location. i listened to it intently and drank in its essence as it simply lay in being not obsessing over what would happen consequent but sat in sheer stillness seemingly encompassing all totality. i was stunned to see that it lingered without judgment in undivided clarity for what wild synchronicity would come. it quenched its thirst in mystery while being completely at home in uncertainty. the golden bronze amber leaf seemed one with all that is while simultaneously retaining awareness of self-perception. as a gentle gust of wind coalesced with the beige fall sky it literally merged with the momentum enjoying the ride to its perfect destination. with delicacy it rested cozily in ambiguity whispering to me that heaven is a state and not a place. i vow surrender to black and white existence pledging fearlessly to climb higher creating life with vivid vibrancy adding golden bronze amber to my palette of colors with which i’ll paint.
©2016 janetaylor
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
Souls of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise
Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his maid Marian,
Sup and bowse from horn and can.
I have heard that on a day
Mine host's sign-board flew away,
Nobody knew whither, till
An astrologer's old quill
To a sheepskin gave the story,
Said he saw you in your glory,
Underneath a new old sign
Sipping beverage divine,
And pledging with contented smack
The Mermaid in the Zodiac.
Souls of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
4.4k
Smoky air, fedora and billboards,
testosterone-fuelled dreams.
the purest of all male forms in its finest
yet darkest days.
Who run the world? Men.
The sweat pouring off of the masculine brow
that controls what we are prohibited.
The lights of Morris Minors flooding the
streets.
The watchful eye that sits upon the ashes.
They’re in charge. Them, and only them.
A red right-hand to those anti-them.
They will tear you apart
if you decide against pledging allegiance.
Or you’ll end up in the sand.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
I see the flag twisting, twirling dancing with the wind
and showing its colors Red White And blue
But I can't place my right hand over heart
You see I am not proud to be an American
I look around and see people pledging allegiance
But do they see what state the country is in?
To be an American you have to let education be second
To be an American the church run the country cause they know more about the world then the people they try to suppress
To be an American you have to talk about civil rights movement and then be like the blind man down the street who didn't see acts against others
yeah we might have it better than most but we are not the best
To Be an American you let laws be passed that discriminate against how you look
Te be an American you build tolerance like high walls but they crash down when you create earthquakes on the ones who are different
To be an American You follow what you hear and not question the government because they are not wasting our money and its not patriotic
To be an American you have to be afraid to be who you are even if they say we accept
To be an American you have to watch what you say or do
because something can result from your freedom of speech
After all that I have said
I wonder if you are proud to be an American too
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
He touched her with his big hands,
Kissed away the flow of tears
He offered his strength
She let the pain go.
He was the only one she could do this with
Rocking her gently
Pretending not to notice,
The quiet whimpering.
The muffled cries
Guarding her heart from all trespassers
While he stared into the night
He would never again allow sadness to befall her,
An oath he took to himself.
To the gods he prayed,
To protect her from harm
Pledging his soul
Any who dare try he would slay.
He is now and forever her protector,
She loved him,
Though some fear remained.
He was solid and hard as granite,
She was very dear to him,
His love.
His life.
Knowing of her sadness
He saw lines of violence
Written upon the small face
After a while the shadows disappeared,
From his beloved’s world
As he held her close, stroked her hair and sighed.
She was oh so very dear to him this damaged soul
His love,
His life.
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
Into the deep, God’s calling me nearer.
Eyes set on Jesus, I feel less afraid
to plumb His holy mysteries, to trade
the shoreline’s shallow surf for currents dearer.
Immersed within God’s Word, He meets me there
with treasures buried underneath the ink,
invites me of His grace-filled seas to drink,
pledging His own inheritance to share.
The love of God! How could thoughts e’er capture
Christ’s boundless waters of sublime delight?
(unmarred, untainted, free from guile or blight)
Yielded, though, heart bathes in, tastes Love’s rapture.
In worship soul can reach to highest bliss
when Jesus is the King that soul doth ‘kiss.’
May 16, 2022
May 16, 2022 at 2:19 PM UTC
Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.
None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.
I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.
Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o’ Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O’ my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn’s blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my *****
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o’er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi’ mony a vow and locked embrace
Our parting was fu’ tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But, O, fell Death’s untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green’s the sod, and cauld’s the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly;
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo’ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom’s core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
2.4k
The drunk is hanging still
from his father’s old shoelace
and the gentlemen are inside
below the starry billabong
hunching and flinching
and forgetting their prayers.
Cattle of darken faces stare at me
and all I see are diamonds
a dim reflection
of those sweet dreams
that belched a fire on a squall.
Her dark green eyes reminded me
of those few days the midnight shone
a moon clinging from her *******
and the leafed body that she wore
She told me to disappear
behind the prairie we both built
and then burned her luscious look
across the lamp lit afternoon.
A thrush died cowardly
and the soldier broke the rotten gun
well, no timber man could hold still
as the drunken old man drew on the wall
the memories of those born to kneel
before a pair of dark green eyes.
The blatant look stood astride me
but I could never felt a thing
so I dreamt of paradise
welling from the blazing riverside
And as the wind swelled cold
all I saw were her dark green eyes
–they dwindle swiftly to the night –.
I felt a dire shot
as the shoal of words I’d forgot
kindle the last midnight moon
and all I could do is sleep away
leave the pledging river to shine out
just before the aurora from her crown
shut down those dark green eyes.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 4:24 AM UTC
You're not running through the airport
You're not dashing through the rain
Two weeks from now, I am sure
My life will be the same
You're not pledging to go with me
I didn't have you at hello
You're not waiting on my doorstep
Or finding me somewhere we know
You're not turning your car around
Or calling my name out in a crowd
You can't even realise you need me
Or say it to me out loud
You're not banging on the glass
Or writing me a song
It's f*cking hard to admit it
But I guess I had you wrong.
Nov 23, 2009
Nov 23, 2009 at 7:12 AM UTC
She told me she would take a bullet for me
I was left stunned only recalling my hereditary
The horrendous guilt emerging all at once before me
Until I recognized her inactivity and realized she want listening to me
I dropped down on the floor almost instantly
Kneeling on one knee hoping her approval of me
Pledging allegiance so she knew she has the chance to consult me
Every time she recalled her children that neglected her for another woman they didn't know
Or the times she felt enigmatic to disown you
As she calls out your name begging to return home
Hearing your voice and having that bit of hope that one day
You mention her, get back to her and abide in her
playing with the golden precious sand
that make up the land which your ancestors once lived in.
I stare at the ruins that lay before me
A familiar face I stumble across
As I lift the grains of sand hoping its a person I know
Unidentified
I stand beneath the bridge hoping it will echo my freedom just like it did back home
I want to scream a thunder
but knowing its too late I'm pelted with stones
being told to go home
as I sit in font of the TV screen hoping I see a familiar face before me
My country.
Hergeysa burco barebera ceerigaabo
Our cities names was never meant to be pronounced by you
The syllabols were never meant to pass your diseased lips
And the delicacy not meant to struggle through your rough throat
But they did anyway.
Every night I see the elan in her face
Whilst providing me with the decree of a fast spree from our relationship
The visions we incarcerate together
And the identical marks and scars we endeavor
With out any confession of our pleasure we seek forever
Our heart beat beats twice as fast
Forming a rhythmic percussion
simultaneously taking a breath of Africa
I lay beneath the golden sun as the rays shine through my eyes
Proudly defining the color of my skin
Showing that none other can be akin
As I am the uniqueness of this historical country
Mogadishu, bosaaso, Los anod, barberra
Our cities names were never meant to be pronounced by you
But when we look at our stars one last time
I realized that it has been colonized too
© S Y A
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
in the underground ocean tunnel
a golden boy with big dreams
drives a 5 speed and despite his tight jeans
his copilot companion is side-seat driving
while he employs reckless steering-weel styling
sarcophagul stasis is most surprising an outcome
for him with his personal aversion to dying
he was in a coma overnight
suddenly eyes are open
above an apathetic white pillow
and all around him people are crying
a partial paraplegic is pledging his allegiance
in his town he's an ornament parked upon the bleachers
thirty years later most assume he was a war hero
but he was just twenty getting road dome on the way home
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
because all I see is IGNORANCE
minds that are satisfied
with being uniformed
where has the world gone
where is the CURIOSITY
where are the children
pledging to make the world a better place
because all I see
are PRETENTIOUS photographs
and empty thoughts
where are the questions
why is it acceptable to know nothing
society
i hate the thought of
a culture
a culture that is OBSCENE
a society that should be
ASHAMED of its wrongdoings
a society that should present
WORLD HUNGER as an actual problem
a society that should take ACTION
rather than sit by
as if people aren't dying as the minutes pass
and every grain in the hourglass
represents a STORY
stories that aren't told
all because society
is too IGNORANT
to care
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
The intense heat of summer begins to relax
Damp sticky air gradually changes to dry, comfortable breeze
In the dark clear sky there hangs the bright full moon
All these remind the Mid Autumn Festival is around
If not the story of Chang'e, the Moon Gooddess of Immortality
The Mid Autumn Festival will have lost its charm
Family gatherings, festive meals, gifts giving and greetings
Are all important and popular in this joyful season
Autumn is also a significant moment for the students
College students will prepare for their new learning programmes
New friends, new lecturers, new courses and new objectives
Seem like a beautiful and exciting world ahead of them to fulfill
On the night of Mid Autumn Festival
Crowds of people go out together to the parks
Children play with lanterns and people share the food they bring
The beautiful moon brings lovers together, pledging their love to each other
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
On the banks
of the
Delaware
where
memories
of Valley
Forge's
dire winter
encampments
still linger
where sons
and daughters
of liberty
shook off
a mid-winter
rigor mortis
risking the
slow death
of complacency
to seize
the prized
celestial
article of
freedom
America's
Labor
Movement
amassed
in the
streets of
Trenton
a vigilant
battalion of
General
Washington's
invading
brigands
speaking
in tongues
of radical
insistence
armed with
the might
of truth
demanding
respect and
equitable
treatment
from the
lordships
of state
doing the
bidding of
527 llc's
Unionists
stand
firmly
on the
shoulders,
walking
in the
tracks
rowing
the boats
of militant
forebears
pledging to
fight on
in a battle
that never ends
to
liberate
the
******
river
of justice
hijacked
by the
privilege
of plenty
diverted
into
culverts
of greed
a
gluttonous
few
siphoning
off
the spoils
of liberty
engorging
themselves
leaving
workers
wanting
democracies
require
the cup
of liberty
to be
shared by
all
The Spirit
of
General
Washington
has
mustered
new
legions
to turn
back the
entitlistas
the
pelting
rain of
lies, the
flinging
arrows of
ridicule
will not
deter
the workers
trooping
for
justice
the
fight
to roll
back
the ugly
tide of
greed
coursing
through
the veins
of America
despoiling
the blood
of our
democracy
is on
the
explosive
dynamite
of struggle
will blast
the dam
of inequity
to bits
unleashing
the river
of justice
to roll
again
Music Selection:
Pete Seeger:
Solidarity Forever
Trenton
2/25/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
i mean, who the hell needs an individualised
orchestra? Mozart doesn't, Beethoven doesn't,
Chopin and Liszt is all piano
so never mind the punk renegade violinist...
how the Indians or the Chinese orchestrated
a population of a billion is staggering,
western powers ********** blanks by comparison,
it's like a body and a virus, translated
with optometry the way we say things,
Sanskrit or the Beijing Ouija - looking at it
is like ingesting the Swiss champagne miracle - nausea
or alternatively lysergia -
it's ******* me up acquiring this tongue
given the history of celebrated colonialism -
proof of the Hackney populace being solely
Caribbean - what a desecrate groundwork to begin with,
maybe Irish maybe Scout maybe Scot,
on the word of honour dynamic pledging
conveniences with the Vatican - look
no further, we're naturalised sadists, football matches
and the sickbed eventualists rather than
evangelists, former nonsense reductionistists...
so they preached their Darwinism exactly against
the theologically roundabout of the pyramids
and the celestial intervention - but expected
nil barbarism... kingly kindness was at least
the expected norm, but if you preach Darwinism
you'll hardly convene on kindness as
the standard norm of expression -
track 12 of the beach boys' pet sounds is elevator music,
i'll be honest... pop music drama of
the band... you never hear of it with orchestras;
the point of genius: you're not really there,
absentee, you do the sacrifice, and make others
make the dough for the bread that's a house and
a family of four, e.g; and just by petting
cats i learned that all animals, petted or wild,
are naturally / intrinsically autistic.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
i am
--am i?--
yeah, i think i am
drunk drunk drunk
and signing myself up for
selective service so i
will be able to access my financial
aid and not have to cough up
almost $2,000 for one term
that me and my bank account
just really do not have, ya know?
and that little dropdown menu
well it doesn’t offer the option of:
“i am being forced to sign up for this
so i can afford college”
because i guess that sounds less
appealing than my being recruited
during lunch while i watched my fellow
(cis) male students dislocate their shoulders
doing pull ups so the older boys in uniform
would be proud of them and
maybe even give them a
nice little lanyard
because after over $100 to get
the right name and gender marker
on my id and $60 to get a new
birth certificate
i’m male enough for the government
to want to make into cannon fodder
but i’m still not male enough to
use the men’s room without the
threat of being verbally harassed
or physically assaulted
and that just makes me so angry
because here’s “bone-spurs donnie”
a known draft dodger of
at least 5 times who had the money
to pay off any doctor he wanted
trying his hardest to ban trans
people from enlisting
to fight in a war backed by a country
that wants them dead
yet that little M on my id
that i paid so much for
makes me eligible to be blown
to bits or come back to
a country that doesn’t want me anymore
with my brains scrambled from
shell shock and ptsd
because this country is willing
to pretty much force-feed young men
into the bottomless belly of the
war machine
always stoking the fires of the
military industrial complex with
money and unscarred flesh
and so much lies
and so much fear mongering
and i am just so tired
of having to fill in that
little bubble with my ballpoint
pen and a click of the mouse
pledging what could easily be the
rest of my life to being
riddled with bullets
miles away from home
just so i can grab that
financial aid
that perpetual carrot being dangled
in front of my oh so
transgender and queer nose
so i can afford an education
and not become another statistic
another person that the
united states of amerikkka
has failed
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
up on Boot Hill
the sun sets early
the soaked anguish
of grieving mothers
swaddled in
twilight's vestments
mourn the death
of another murdered
child
we roll our eyes
and speak in tongues
tiny prayers
incant
RIP
these reflexive bits,
our shattered votives
litter city boulevards
on each solemn
street corner
new alters
of desecration
are erected
then despoiled with
the wasted wax of
misspent novenas
our extended families
are bloodlines of fear
spawning
prostrate men
tattooed with
multicolored pain
who refuse to cover
body marks
bespeaking epic tales
of sorrow,
divisions
countless separations
also marking
righteous reasons
of seething
resentments
eager to settle
accounts
sweet vendettas
clever ambushes
carefully deliberated
for generations
by discordant clans
believing in malice
exalting guns
shared loss
is our
common
affliction
uniting everyone
in envelopes of sadness
becoming live
Dear John letters
bearing news of dearly
departed loves
atop the coffins
of dead children
votives pile high
with scrawled eulogies
of fevered graffiti
solemnly pledging
“gonna make someone suffer
gonna even the score
never forget you
RIP”
and we all die
looking stupid as hell
lamenting
love don’t rest in peace
hearing
it scream from the grave
witnessing
the hallowed earth
churning with revulsion
accepting the bitter ashes
of another dead child
for the love of you
is your funeral march
love don’t RIP
it stalks the tomb
of indifference
it mourns
the ambivalence
of its devaluation
it haunts the
day dreams
of what could
have been
it restlessly
flits among
the playgrounds
of our minds
cluttering the rooms
of our homes
with grief
up on Boot Hill
we clasp the
small hands
protruding from
shallow graves
groping to find
a graceful sleep
for love don’t
rest in peace
Stevie Wonder:
Love Is In Need of Love Today
Written to honor
Love Appreciation Day
jbm
Oakland
1/19/13
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Pimpled
Pockmarked beauty
Barely my angel
Brace yourself for the world below
You should never be let out of sight
This earth will swallow you whole
Your life is more than surface scars
And attempts at something worthwhile
Their hands they long to hold yours
Gently graze your skin
Limping along behind you
I beg for forgiveness
It was not you who transgressed
I am a stupid fool of a man to ever wish anything more than you
I could not expect a love like mine for you to ever manifest again
Not if I ever found your equal
I would not believe that it was possible
Refusing that could happen
Madness driven panic stricken
Calamity Jane all over again!
All over the bathroom stall
Everyone heard it down the hall
I'm racing faster than my heart
This chase will never end
Until I collapse at your feet
Tearing at fabric
Soaking tears and blood
Screaming promises
Pledging allegiance
Pleading mercy
If my life is not fit currency
To pay the fine for transgressions against the divine
How many more times must I try before it amounts to
Whatever price you have in mind?
As a stray cat passes by I pause and realize
This life is not mine
And your hands are too clean for me
So I will leave you be
And go find me
And when we learn to see again
I'll be a man with ***** calloused hands
Washing in the river
Wading and wishing
Drifting in and out of dreams of you and me
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
It was twelve at night as he looked at the ceiling over come with feelings that were preventing him from dealing, with life that was the problem you see it was like nothing could be right, trapped in a prison built by his own mind that night.
So he gets up puts his feet on the floor laces up some all-stars and goes out the door.
As he walks he thinks that he must be in a kind of sleep, because as he looks around he sees odd things in this deep.
You see the sky begins to thunder and lightning strikes the sky, and the air gets colder, and he's reminded of the day his brother died.
The ground starts to pull apart, and fire begins to rise and at that moment you can see the fear in his eyes.
So he does what people do when there afraid he looks up to the sky searched for God and prayed.
He begged for safety cause he felt that this was the end, his job his love his dreams his friends.
That's when a figure begins to reveal itself in the flames, a tall slender figure with the eyes that seemed flawed with stains.
No it wasn't stains, as it grew closer, see the eyes were arranged with colors from all over.
And as the fire begins to part the face comes into view, a gorgeous women clothed only in flames with a look on her face as if she knew.
Because there was a secret he hadn't shared before, a few days ago he couldn't take it anymore. So he tried to take his own life so he could keep from being sore.
Because this was something he couldn't bare, he had felt that he tried so hard and that the world was unfair.
But the woman gives him a look as if she understands, and says that she can help him, and he only has to give her his hand. And pledge his loyalty to her and her alone.
As he swallowed hard and thought and finally said yes, but one thing must be known, the name of the one he's pledging to, to sit on the throne.
She says that's simple I go by many names Venus, the Serpent, but for you I'll level. For you probably know me when they call me the Devil.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
She is scared by the
long slow dwindling of
the heart's manouevres
towards the end of the night,
or of life.
So she tugs on its clammy fingers
tries to get it to waltz again.
I tell her:"Live with me between
a name and anonymity."
I say nothing.
There's no foyer in a one-room kitchenette,
but I stand in the foyer anyways,
holding half a poem -
or half a person.
And tilting at windmills.
She is a page and then some
a rough border - shaggy corners.
Glue chafing from the binding.
And maybe she is older than me.
But nobody ever learned to hunt
by watching vegetables being chopped,
and we both agree that since we're
pledging allegiance, we can put our hands
anywhere, right? I just haven't
mentioned which country.
The point is this:
Tomorrow is a mystery creature,and I refuse to guess
whether it wears fur or feathers.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
You know what fear is?
Would be a grand expression.
Girl, you are the only one that I fear.
and I am everyone's greatest fear.
Sorry to say but you do not fear me.
The fear runs underneath every word that trembles out.
Perhaps the mumbles are my stifled voice.
Grasped by an ever clenching throat.
Each "I'm here" fills my lungs with another desperate breath.
I approach my foggy glass door smiling at your ghostly shadow.
My flesh does not peal back nor blur into a gnarly wound.
Scents of plush comfort and feeling of opiates flourishing.
Granting my hemoglobin, plasma, and marrow.
One does not fear ones flesh but the eagerness to provide.
Fearing not the donor but the blood they give.
Pledging to yawn and inhale your tranquility
while expelling my own insanity
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 8:46 AM UTC
The secret of my energy
can be found in my false libido,
unwanted erections,
vibrations on the
inner-city bus.
My blue collar life
with a white collar tongue,
tried pyramid schemes,
tried working for the right thing
on the wrong side of the bar.
Worked on my oral ***
until going down was an art,
worked on my poetry
in the hope I could ******** through
the empty spaces,
clear absence of a career path.
The secret of my energy
can be found in my distance
from anything or anyone.
The secret of my energy
can be found in my contempt
for telling those I care for
about who I love
or what I ate for lunch.
Tried drinking green tea,
meditating by the ocean waves
until I sang the ballad of the sea.
Tried tuning my guitar
to the point the strings would snap
in the hope of portraying emotion
my talent had always lacked.
The secret of my energy
can be found in my distaste
for positivity and pessimism,
for conservative thought
and overdrawn liberalism,
for whistle-blowers
and tone-deaf singers
of flag-waving anthems
and golden age dreams.
Tried holding my hand to my heart,
pledging allegiance
to red wine, white skin, and blue truth.
The secret of my energy
can be found in every idea
I had reached out for
only to find that in my pursuit
I could only become the sum
of all that I knew,
of all that I was,
of all I outgrew.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
Sweet... so sweet at first; as if intending to overbear, and then in a moment's breath, the intensity having mellowed fades.
Next one's tongue does greet, a nuttiness that begs it to retreat; reviving dead memories of when you two first did meet.
Having now fallen from heights, be they slope or steep; the taste of your tongue becomes bittersweet. Ending this final kiss, silently pledging to lose neither hope nor sleep; heartbreak leaves the taste of caramel upon your teeth.
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 2:17 PM UTC