"prequel" poems
From day one he was trouble
His parents knew on sight
Their bundle of pure joy and bliss
Was somehow, just not right
It wasn't in his nature
To be part of a gang
He like to be off by himself
He liked things that went bang
He was troubled in his school years
Never getting real good marks
He didn't get along with other
He was burning caps and making sparks
But when this boy found fire
Well, then....his world became real small
Never mind the big explosions
He would go and burn them all
Small fires set in dumpsters
Behind the shops, by where he ran
He'd set fire to the garbages
While he trapped a cat inside the can
He progressed on up to buildings
Made that jump, in one big way
He torched a crack house, all abandoned
Buy using gas and old, dry hay
But, the thrill was not a keeper
It wore off as fast as it arrived
He had to extend the feeling
That made his body feel alive
He knew to see his fires
He would have to volunteer
First he would go set them
Then, help put them out...I fear
It was a stroke of pyro genius
He'd set them and he'd put them out
He'd learn what gave them trouble
And he'd give them more without a doubt
He never killed another
Never burnt a persons home
He always set his fires
Where buildings always stood alone
They caught him late September
He'd burned a building late one night
It was supposed to be abandoned
But, was full of squatters, out of sight
The picture, it was famous
A hippie shaking someone's hand
It was on the front page of the paper
And it was shown through out the land
A fingerprint was lifted
A switch, that burned, not like it should
And from there, it was no problem
To lock this boy away for good
He was sent away to prison
He was gonna die there, bet on that
And on his first day in that prison
He saw an old man, who just sat
Sitting in the corner
by himself, no one around
Sat a man, all old and wrinkled
Lips were moving, but no sound
Came forth from this man's mouth,
his lips all cracked and dry,
You could stand right there and listen
And hear nothing if you tried...
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
when i was six years old my whole family went to disney world and being the self-respecting born and bred star wars fans we were, my brother and i cajoled our parents into letting us buy pictures of our little faces photoshopped onto the faces of star wars characters.
my brother? anakin skywalker. and me? aayla secura.
who you probably haven't heard of, even if you're a pretty big fan of the series. to get you up to speed, aayla secura was a jedi knight and a general during the clone wars era in the prequel trilogy, which is all suitably ******* badass, but if i remember right she has roughly five minutes of screen time in the movies and even less in lines. and you probably remember her as that one blue chick.
and if i remember right she was also one of about three or four female options for the pictures. sure, there was padme amidala and princess leia, who are badass ladies in their own rights, but see the thing is that no six year old watches starwars and thinks to themselves, "hmm, i want to be a politician!" you think to yourself, "i want to be a jedi." and the only option that was a girl and a jedi was a background character.
but that's the thing isn't it? being a background character, a love interest, a side-kick is something girls grow used to seeing themselves cast as. sure, we're in the movie, but with half the lines and screen time. never the center of the story. never the hero, just the pretty girl with fluttery eyelashes he saves. too often i found myself having to invent my own characters and stories so that i could feel that i was part of a narrative, too.
and suddenly, more than ten years too late for for six year old me but just in time for a whole new generation of little girls, the person in the center of the poster clutching a blue lightsaber like a beacon of the light side was a girl.
so this halloween as i'm handing out candy i will see myself in every little girl with her hair twisted into three buns and light saber in her hand and the galaxy in her eyes. finally, finally the story is about her.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
Controversy started over the images this device receives. Hormones control this impulse, she's making each ***** convulse, and I can tell I'm still in love by the palpitations of my pulse.
Thus, proving that her actions indicate the prequel to her return. Her affection distant but still yearn, expressing sentiments, guess I'll never learn, spoken without biting my tongue
and now it's your turn.
Conquer hearts and take over,
**** her off when I'm not sober,
**** her off when thoughts become somber, **** her off when I say I won't be here much longer, **** her off for many reasons, **** her off once during every season and **** her off the most when in myself I stop believing.
Her perfection an extension of accessible recollection, to the woman who despises the notion of wearing articles of clothing.
Not the best at displaying her emotions, so in combination the words she's chosen seem broken, unable to withhold the growth of sentiments cut at the root, and as they now reproduce, sunflowers inhabit her garden and all the revelations of truth.
Lapse of time passes, lasting longer
than activities that involved
me being on her.
Inappropriately timing events perfectly.
Summer seems to have visited me in the fall, her memories now more than ever I recall and wishing I wasn't missing the woman who had it all.
Concluding it's a blessing, for continuing to have your presence present, writing by only depending on your recollection, and since poetry is my obsession, make new memories with me as I practice the act of ceding back to a former possessor, definition of recession.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
This story is just beginning
don't mind the few blank pages along the way
That's when I though the plot had ended
Little did I know that was just a prequel
Character development
The first chapters I know the main character is hard to decipher
Just remember this is just the beginning
I'll hold a box of tissues for you when the plot seems to twist and turn
This is just the beginning of my story
When I thought this was the last page
I realized there's a whole another book with my name on the cover
This plot hasn't even climaxed yet
Please won't you stick around and see what happens next
Because this is character development
The prequel
To the story of my life
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
Jesus washed me clean
The 5-28-06
(Stolen from the memory of someone. The deep recesses of the mind of days gone by. When life seemed to be worthless, when the mind was dark and lonely, Jesus came and set them free. Was this your mind?)
————————————————–
The brokenness of my life, a shattered life in the eyes of others, (some would say hopeless) was put together, redeemed, made whole the first time I believed.
For the first time in my life I was clean. I didn’t feel ***** anymore. Jesus washed me clean. I was redeemed and remade in His image.
It began the day someone told me about Jesus. The moment I believed, for the first time in my life I was clean. I now walk the path Jesus walks. Each day is new and fresh in Him. When I am weak He is strong. He never leaves me. He carries me when I am tired and can no longer walk. He tells me to hold on to Him for tomorrow will be better. The days despair threatens to drag me down, He carries me until I can stand once again. When I can walk once more, we walk once again hand in hand. I can hear His voice say “well done today” as I lay my head down for the night. Sleep is wonderful knowing I am in His hands.
Each day I wake up is like the first time I met Him. I am clean. Can I say “clean” too much? I am clean in His eyes and He gives me joy, He gives me life. He gives me the bread of life that I may live with Him forever.
**“Every morning I wake up is a good day.
Every morning I wake up and give God the glory, is a wonderful day.
The morning I wake up to Heaven’s brand new day, is a glorious day indeed.”**
Do you know Him? Really know Him? Let go of the old life and be redeemed, be made new in Him. Hopeless is not a word Jesus thinks about. All things are possible with Him. For my life, a shattered life in the eyes of others, (some would say hopeless) was put together, redeemed, made whole the first time I believed.
07-02-08
This was written about a young woman who was lifted out of a life of **** and prostitution over two years ago. It has been two years since writing the above part. I see her at church these days and she gets more beautiful every day. The effects of **** are gone from her face. Her eyes have taken on a glow of Jesus in her life. Hearing her talk about her walk with Jesus just sends chills down my back. This is Amazing Grace walking, talking, and living among us.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
*Powerful Oaks nurture glistening orbs , curtain call of the Muses , prequel of effervescent , diurnal joy amongst their brethren with abundant ****** melodies ! The Angels of Harmony , melodist of Zion , proclaim from the East ! The woodland duet , song of Brown Thrasher and Chickadee , the acoustical miracles of the Heavenly host , brilliant a cappella voices with thunderous volume , first chair instrumentalist within the symphony of Dawn*
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Golden sun on golden hair
The kind of girl you can follow
By the trail of broken hearts
And promises of passion
Fashionable fury
Magnificent monster
Devouring life
Devoted to lust
Desiring love
In my head I saw the cohort
Of lovers, past, present and future
Walking meekly by
Cherishing the whole lot
From first eye contact
To first touch
And even the crush
The smack on the head
That useless feeling of feeling useless
It’s hard not to make the same mistake
Even in a place so mundane
As you set a place like this
Ferociously on fire
Burning and battering
Heat and heart
Mesmerizing mess
Deviously destructing
The girl at the bus station
Promising a journey you’ll regret
And a morning after to forget
Sentimental slur
Like only a fool could feel
Heading in heart first
Ending up endangered
Feelings rearranged
Promises kept
The girl at the bus station
You know she’ll break your heart
And still you get aboard
Because life’s too short
Not to give in to sin
Sensual sacrificing
Dare to wear your heart
On a sleeve
Only to have it thrown away
So she transformed
From the girl at the bus station
Into the girl from that one memory
Of that horrible movie
And that passionate play
Hoping that it all
Proves to be a prequel
Of the story of a lifetime
About a girl at the bus station
And a fool who came to stay
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
in the annals of cricket
those of greatness get a mention
for what they've achieved on the wicket
these men stand head and shoulder
above the rest
their contribution
to the game
has
been written as the best
three men have inspired
younger players
in their homelands
they've accomplished
much on wickets
throughout the many cricket playing
lands
Steven Waugh(Australian Captain)
the master strategist
who had a captain's mind
replete with brilliant tactics
when he took to the pitch
the opposition teams
would quiver in their
collective boots
field placement
over deliveries
the weather conditions
all of these factors
actuated in his mind
so he could
bring an innings
of a notable kind
Sachin Tendulkar (Indian Batsman)
the king of the blade
who none can equal
in test matches
his cuts and cover drives
were worthy of an epic prequel
his style with the bat
twas magic to see
he had a prowess
of majesty
Vivian Richard (West Indies All Rounder)
he was never phased
he held his nerve
with the bat or the ball
a tradesman
who fielded what ever came at him
and in his relaxed style
chewed on a piece of gum
and demolish
the bails
with a Caribbean hum
cricket's hall of fame
that 22 yard pitch
where three greatest of the game
performances
did of fans
ever bewitch
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
See beyond the struggle is Hannibal
eating the face of identity and smoldering the heart
the repetition of bewildering sequels
names that don't match and feelings that can't compare
the original is the peak of a syndicate to steal
where the prequel is death
being left to, cult film destitution.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 2:02 AM UTC
insanity, begin;
PLAY
foam born (A) of the ocean
the backtrack (B)
to the origin of human emotion
before hue and saturation
my life may be black and white
but for the next hour
- quite frankly -
I don’t give a **** because
I am a spaceman looking down on you
no, literally
I am
[above]
you
the decade of statues into which I was born
begged to be forgotten
left behind
communication with my own kind
redundant
boring
meaningless
humanity, mother earth
nothing worth living for
no one worth dying for
because of the
informal gluttony
a sickening acceptance
of the inherent claustrophobia of the human condition
I’m floating
floating
floating
further away from you
from any possible natural surrounding
or human connection
[claiming to be part of humanity always secretly disgusted me]
everything is beautiful from up high
I am a spaceman, a future butterfly.
wait.
something isn’t right
I’m further away
more detached
than I intended to be
further away
the safety of my orbit overlooking you
deconstructing in front of my own eyes
now floating towards the sun of nothing
perhaps I
miscalculated my own superiority
I am the one floating towards eternity
after all
to an inescapable fate
while you are back home
with your (our) own kind
perhaps unhappy
but not alone
I am.
watch me pass by
one last time
I feel my soul breaking apart
my eyes glaze over and
sha/t/te/r
atmosphere
burning
mistaken for a shower of stars
an acceptable way to leave the third
dimension I suppose
perhaps you will see me as the ants of the sky
scattering
glowing
burning
as I find the sun
hello?
am I still alive?
are you still there?
perhaps all I’ve said
and lived
was nothing more than a prequel to the sequel
life before death?
or the other way around?
I am no longer confined by four dimensions
even time is irrelevant
everything is different
everything is right
bleeding viridian
feeling the sensation of nothingness
seeing the sempiternity of the galaxy
hearing translucent shades of the endless chasm
that now surrounds me
falling
fallin
g
falli
ng
fal
l
i
n
g
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
into the depths
until I land upon a new horizon
I am a spaceman
I am discovering everything
I found death
surrounded by white walls
the greatest journey
of our [lives?]
happens only six feet down
surrounded by white walls
this is what we have when we die.
this is what is left of us.
white walls.
White Walls.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
You slash a wound that is closed.
Reveal what others conceal.
My coal smashed to diamonds.
When I left Richmond, I ran so quickly.
My shallow heart, and sun deprived skin,
is floating away, like dandelion fluff.
Goodbye blue skies... ...unjust... ...evaporate.
Believe his truths... believe what he says...
The prequel of hello, is recognition with the eyes.
Unmapped highways, and hopeful questing.
Scalpel, scalpel, scalpel...
I despise the way the steel sounds.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
Cherry bumps, bumping to you in the preceding
of your body's prequel. You're looking like a sequel,
I just want to see you in that see through.
Let me hit it till I quit, quit it till I miss it.
I know it's been a minute in the warmth of your body
and long socks. Advances of awkward romances is all I got.
Could I be the key to your secret lock, walking through your
door after a long tongue knock?
__Knock, knock, knock,__
to taste the sound of love, the pleasing ears of raining
down drizzles of when you come—around this time
when I'm done. Could I be your night's desirable secret?
I'm quite good at keeping secrets; fulfilling pleasures in
your imaginative wishes.
Okay maybe that's just wishful thinking; sinking in
the loves of night—your love is what I'm seeking.
You're what I'm missing, to be hopefully kissing you
the next time we're meeting.
__Ring, ring, ring,__
please put on your tone, call for my company anytime
you feel alone. The distance seems far, but close to my
heart when your embrace is my home. Living in the
moment—capture it all in my focus. Who needs a bed of roses;
you're already my pretty flower I'm holding onto the closest.
Just pick up the phone my love.
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 4:51 PM UTC
The cracks in the sidewalk are forming a pattern.
Keeping away those foreign to this land.
If you don't belong here,
don't be long here.
It is funny how the snow falls
over the trash and bricks.
A blanket of white that hides the problems.
The deafening sound of sorrow.
A retirement home retired.
Covered in graffiti and ****
This talking must stop.
The sky is growing darker and the nights
they are below freezing.
Driving down alleyways and watching the apocalypse prequel.
Slam!
The car stops, not wanting to move.
The reverse went out long ago.
Everything that had promise
is broken.
Shattered glass reflecting hope back into the sun.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
Perfection of my bad habits/
headed to Budapest seeking Buddha/
the root of all evil had it/
bared fruit which is truth/
prequel to the madness/
time could only tell
so I'm killing it on tales end/
new urban legends substitution time just flew bye/
plane to see tail spin
nose dive flat crashing
I need coffee to survive/
know limit is the sky
I'm under the weather cloudless grounded temperature on the rise/
I could bite my tongue
So I speak with my eyes/
blink you may miss it like a mistress/
spending all yours with your wife/
life is a drug addicted/
I need a second opinion/
doctor told me death is all that can be prescribed/
what a gamble if I lose shambles all in or diversify/
Spirits in the air impaired perceptions unclear/
All these bad habits
I'm ill prepared/
Circle of life where do we go from here/
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
Bad life to good life,
good meets bad,
bad meets evil,
time to make a new life,
forget about the prequel,
man it's all about the sequel,
it's a time to survive,
not a time to die,
time to make a new history,
and no longer being confined,
time to break out of prison,
cutting away the red tape,
because this is a new age,
redefined and recreated,
we aren't some stupid ape,
survival of the fittest?
man this ain't the hunger games,
if it were we'd be dead,
or in a lot of pain,
we try to play the nice card,
but man people don't play,
that game,they just put on their mask
and fake themselves, man this society is going insane
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
Across the reflective fields of Hill Country grass begins to escape its icy enclosure ..Black Angus leave red clay impressions bound for green pastures ..Mourning doves wail their somber retreat as first light exposes the prequel to Heaven .. Blackbirds and smoke from morning bonfires alight , the promise of daylight is scented with Oak and Hickory as fields of cotton appear to ignite . Tin roofs begin to glow , church bells awake villages on the horizon . Golden waves pan Eastern skies , Sycamores sequester abundant sunshine ..Sparrows , Chickadees and Finches gossip without end , Bluejays and Brown thrashers command the fence line once again .
Barbed wire enclosures divide the landscapes , dancing scrub Pines act as reeds , filtering the breeze with the music of natures continuity ..
Blacktop drives ribbon the lonesome acreage , goat herds graze the property frontage . Quarter , Morgan and Appaloosas quietly graze against the backdrop of nineteenth century farm houses .. White silos and red barns , gourd birdhouses , dug wells and smokehouses ..Bantam roosters and hens sift through acorns beneath two hundred year old Water Oaks ..
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
good meets bad,
bad meets evil,
time to make a new life,
forget about the prequel,
man it's all about the sequel,
it's a time to survive,
not a time to die,
time to make a new history,
and no longer being confined,
time to break out of prison,
cutting away the red tape,
cause this is a new age,
redifined and recreated,
we aren't some stupid ape,
survival of the fittest?
man this ain't the hunger games,
if it were we'd be dead,
or in alot of pain,
bad life to good life,
survival vs denial,
we all make mistakes,
every once in a while,
cause you only live once,
so start living your life,
sometimes i wish i could,
live my life twice,
but you can't cause that's life,
you say life *****
your glass half empty,
start looking at it half full,
forget about the prequel,
time to make a new sequel.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
*she says she's excited,
more excited than when she read..
i'm still tryna make a prequel, but the script is in my head,
like,
her beauty was that of natures, sacred & amorous..
such a fine, divine, kind.. couldn't be captured by a camera lens..
&my; sole dream was to lay on that land of bliss..
till her hands grip the sheets &she; pounds them like hammer fists.
her taste.
like a heaven-sent, angel scent wine..
laced,
with a hint of forbidden nectar from the fruit of divine..
&save; some for dessert may have been the past deal..
but in this prequel, im digging in like its my last meal,
&her; pronunciation of vowels, is elite..
in fact, she invents a new sound whenever i go deep.
deeper than the ocean, our emotions have no depth.
&like; the sea the aftermath made it seem like we had wept*.
-afj
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
I wonder if we could swallow the universe with the cosmos of our internal struggle. I’d rather not delay in chewing a few morsels while the galaxy devours us. Still my stomach gnawed chicken bones against my advice. My woeful digestion salted my compromise in the bliss of juicy delicacy. Complacent and alone a full stomach consumed my flesh in the unlimited dimensions of matter. In this darkness my name is a mist noted on the prequel of my death. In your gaze I revived on the bridge of your frayed lashes. You dropped me a line on your tacit glances and I remembered who I was. Soaked in emotion the earth was faded in the lines of my palm. With each internal keystroke I feasted on the victory of my invisible eternity.
Thank you Jesus
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
What’s with this
Antediluvian Delusion?
While I concede that all men were created equal
You clearly didn’t read the prequel.
You must actualize your potential.
It’s detrimental to a democracy
To be filled with such hypocrisy.
Don’t be proud of who you are
Be proud of who you can be.
However it must be, just me.
This notebook doesn’t care what I have to say
And society ignores what it can’t explain.
I might as well be talking to myself.
As a matter of fact, I am.
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
I pen this powerful piece of prominent prominence in praise of my passion
I power these powerful words
To empower your purpose
Your presence, presents
And presentations presented to us a privilege to profit from your priceless
And precious prizes
Weak people prefer power
But powerful people prefer to empower weak people
I am pleased and proud
And promise to provide partnership to your projects
Precisely, I picked and puzzled these powerful words
So particular people can see and pluck from this precious plant
The plain plan of the poem is to paint pretty pictures in pixel
This piece is not a prequel
Though I see the “pre” in the “quel”, I’m trying to recall
The purpose of this prequel
Only for my parents to tell me Patrick, Pause and play this piece in a sequel.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 2:23 AM UTC
Quiet evening on the porch . Explosions in the distance , the soldiers are getting small , incoming ! Attention subjugated from intense light to the west ! It's storming in Alabama tonight ! I'm sure it is ! The insects , mesmerized by porch light , are growing in numbers , catapulted East by violent winds , the prequel to our own battle with Thor and his army ! An entire Division , preceded by artillery , wave after wave ! Refugees have flooded the screen in rear combat operations tonight , confused , terrified faces are flashing before my very eyes ! Sergeants are screaming commands on both sides of the road as the skirmish recedes ! Rain ... Puddles .. At six a.m. as the fog begins to lift , siren of whippoorwills , ambulances rush forward to gather the dead , the toy soldiers have bled all they can ..Their really just plastic anyway ! Play things , hallucinations , flashbacks , whatever word conjures , terminates repetitive mind games , conflict witnessed many years ago , committed to endless replay , delivered by a Summer storm from Alabama last night !
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
I take a breathing space
to find my place
somewhere out there,
just in case
I run out of time.
The needle points less
to pointless pleasure,
I stick it to me
what
joy,
what treasure.
On the carousel
I go round the circus
we call hell and can you tell me
why this is so?
But is this a sequel or a prequel
or just the interlude? or
is
this real time in the breathing space?
The clock face tells me another tale
of seagulls flying,
of ships and sail
and a Martinique where lovers seek
the holy grail.
I race on but time outstrips me
and in the script we
did not see,
penned there in red ink
the words,
'don't you ever think we'll let you go'
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC