"progressions" poems
nobody gets the cancer twice.
(a blues guitar riff)
blood in the stool
ain’t nobody’s fool,
whent to high school
did not graduate,
but know it wasn’t no thing I ate
scale greets me friendly like,
long lost buddy from yesterday morn,
‘let get right down to it,
let’s see how much less of you borne
leftover alive from the prior day’
spirit spit blood from my gums,
got me a woman, she’s way over town,
woman said I’m brushing with
too hard a brush, alright, alright,
make no fuss, she’s good to me
nobody’s fool whent to school,
though I did not graduate,
a mean riff is better than a
slow moving woman blues cry,
got the strings to do my screaming
doctor is a fan, name is Jimmy,
played music like last time round,
Jimmy-jamming, dancing in the waiting room,
“that cancer got kick, it’s gonna get ya,
think I told ya that about hunner times before”
‘nobody gets the cancer twice,’
an old wives tale for unlucky po’ somofabitches,
do you some tests, tell ya the specifics,
right now, lay, lay down them new tracks,
no quitting time less the good lord comes a-calling’
blues guitar makes a man
cry shiver scream and shake,
progressions licks and tricks,
so you can’t tell what’s making
a grownup man cry and laugh louder
bring me my medicine
bring me my guitar
all I know is how it makes me feel,
oh baby once a night it’s true,
nobody gets the cancer twice
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
carry me through lands of dreams
sleepy shamans oaths perceived
the new humans rewrite their creed
to reconstruct the codes beneath.
as sands of time brush through my lungs,
beneath where silver moons once hung,
the catalyst for earths progressions,
tantric winds of gods procession
are pulled to fuel the fires in our chest.
to fuel the fires in us.
ride the colors of the wind, my friend;
dance with death until your end.
the serpentine son rises to speak eternal truths
and soon his weary eyes will rest upon you.
the deepest shades of blue green hue
from the swoon of palaces
dreamt of once, so long ago
where trees from ancient soils will grow
and we, collect their morning dew.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
undress the frets and peel the strings, pulled as oxymoron through chord progressions
hermetic code and the 8-fold path swim indefinitely within concept of illusion
concept
of
illusion
trick question.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
universal ****
**** me so I can give birth to your beautiful slumdog millionare
you know what I mean?
the man wearing pants so tattered it doesn't matter why he's dancing?
I meant that when I said it and I said it when it meant so much to the
king of all castles running in circles around melancholy as if it were
a dog to be chased so catch your own tail, too big to fail, too big to
fail, ah, cleanliness has its way of speech and I will never be rid of
it's cancellation fees, but does that matter oh so much if clouds
understand me better than sand sees chord progressions in winter hymnals
sung by early risen bird from dust and snow?
I didn't think so either.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
Boring to me
listening to those
them disconnected Rondos-
no idea where the
progressions are-
yet, they still anticipate
something!
With every life situation;
there should be
a limited amount
of dominants-
then when using
secondary dominants
one can make progressions.
The music can only
be plucked
like a harp
in several directions,
making music
without the control
of one chord.
One chord has
trouble progressing
without the secondary dominants.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
Starring up in the sky as the sun set sets into darkness.
You ever wonder to yourself, why is life sometimes lifeless.
Regrets of the past, on experiences you can’t change.
Yet those mere memories in your head cease to fade.
Until you come across someone in your life you can’t live without.
That person who makes you better, loves you for you, and makes you shout.
Trials and progressions, but not every relationship is built to last.
Those insecurities maybe trust issues from the past.
To my lady of love, please do not hurt me.
I only wish to give you pleasure, love and security.
I may be young, scared, but I’m ready.
To open my mind, my body, my heart yet take it steady.
Don’t rush, no need to.
My only wish is to please you…
With time and patience and (maybe R. Kelly playing in the basement)
But that’s another story for later.
What I mean to say is baby is you’re my kryptonite.
My nature’s nectar, so sweet and so ripe.
I need you; I want you to continue to be in my life.
For I am your man and this time is right.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
A cardinal traversed within himself
Retrograding, an opposition to time's progressions
Letting its wings cut through memory streams
It notices–
A cold sea breeze
Journeying from dock into the Walled City
Mixing with arid wind and fumes from Manila streets
Twisting and turning sky-high greens
Causing umber to fall, separating themselves from virescent leaves
Familiarity drove it to circle this scene
As the curtains of relativity are pulled back to show it–
A street lamp dims,
Refusing to team with others' gleam
That give the black iron above Charles' skin an auburn sheen
As it keeps on flickering like hints
From an undecided heart, calling out to the man with every whim
Familiarity drove it to land on a tree
Perched on its viridescent sepia shoulders, playing guardian to–
A couple sits
On the rim of the fountain at the king's feet
A hand touches a cheek, a warm caress as their eyes meet
Fitting into each other's gaze
On the dried cascade, dessicated, as the street lamps stay lit
It notices–
As it traversed within himself
Retrograding all of its current progress
Letting his memories cut himself six-deep
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
After cocktails at Luigi's Bar, and then The Golden Bowl,
I proposed we play a gig of jazz-inspired rock and roll.
We all thought we'd make the fans cry out for encores every night.
But our schemes were dreams that faded in the morning's ruthless light.
My blue guitar should captivate the people every night.
But the dream crumbled, the dream tumbled.
My dream faded out of sight.
Playing keyboards was Patricia. (Never 'Trisha', never 'Pat'.)
She'd a taste for gracious living in her small art deco flat.
She would practice chord progressions, sipping lapsang souchong tea.
Then she played away at weekends with her special friend, Marie.
She trained her dainty fingers to explore new grooves each night.
But the dream crumbled, the dream tumbled.
Her dream faded out of sight.
We had Ritchie on electric bass, with tap-and-pull technique.
Such a clever devil — Ritchie almost taught the bass to speak.
Ralph the drummer's backbeat cymbal crashes measured out the bars.
We agreed the speed — then found we could not play like superstars.
Would the crowd be wowed by passion from my lovely blue guitar?
No, the dream crumbled, as the band stumbled.
Our dream faded overnight.
The Blue Guitar Quartet
was as close as we could get
to our vision for the music of today.
But we bumbled and we fumbled,
our aspirations humbled.
So we slowly put our instruments away.
"The Blue Guitar Quartet
is down, but not out yet.
With practice you will crack it," said Marie.
"Let Patricia be your singer;
she's a musical humdinger,
and as soulful as a solo girl can be".
"She can improvise a blues
based on any riff you choose.
Let's have handshakes and embraces —
this quartet is going places!
Here's to jazz-rock, and The Blue Guitar Quartet!"
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
Emergent and forming I feel a storm is imploring that soon without any warning you beg to cross a line
Every time, nothing is sacred but sacramental complacence is marked as roles of the shameless
Mean to skip a line another time? Is this too rough and obtuse for a cutie like you to boost the power line?
Number 9, completion is power and stricken chords every hour proceed to timeline devour those daily entities
I do decree that opposition to me is free and withered beatings to meetings, detours and dealings
understanding demands of variable plans is held by the hand that feeds the depleted need
I see it from every angle, the tangle, the multishifted frame though it dangles, I can't be stuck in my own head when
I see the reflections of me in the treasure it jangles, brings into focus where my head fell to float in the
moments set to wrangle, pull it in, dwell upon the good and discard where it hampers new fangled notions like
truth effusions of love and devotion are swallowed up in the daily ocean of noise traffic, the more verbose,
Graphic dispatches matches blasted disasters dashed and rash past distractions amass magic attacks balanced
Secular motion entwined with metaphysical potions, divided what is your quotient? It doesn't add up in this
moment.
Interpersonal, intergalactic, universal assertions disturbed by verbage of outrance
Message mismanaged mischief mallaeble mayhem managed maganamously mallicous mannered when I
would proclaim them. Members materialized meriting masturbatory movements and monetized
malappropriation I have no patience nor pathos for indiscriminant egos demonstrating a tangent as canon and
paralyzing progressions toward psychic visions of heaven, eyes as the cosmos, and pressures upended.
I'll cope with associations disastrous and tainted, but keep in my visage all that scratches my lenses
I know far too much to be content with the situation, but far too little to shatter falsehood's intitiation
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
It's been a year since my suicide attempt. Right now, I'd be in the ER waiting to find out which inpatient clinic I'd go to. One year. Since, I have escaped from toxic people and shifted from an old self. One year. What do I have to show for it? Emotional outbursts? A nicotine addiction? Abandoning my creativity? A battle with a psychological addiction to psychedelic drugs? What does progress look like? What does it mean to reconstruct yourself? A building torn - that's what I am. A prairie, a forest, which has experienced a wild fire. Beyond recognition, I deface myself - as if to erase myself and destroy the things I like. What does progress look like? Am I getting there? In my view, progress is not always seen by you directly. It is not our job to determine if we make progress, but, by the value of people and situations in our lives, we will have it be seen. To do things for ourselves is wonderful. But, what does progress look like? It looks like making giant leaps forward - and then three steps back. It looks like dipping our toe in the water, and then wanting to dry off. It looks like it's perfect, but actually not. It looks like a broken toy fixed with expired super glue. Who are we to determine progression? It's an obsession of the mind for us to think that progress means we must always be fine - that we must be perfect. If I have a million irrational thoughts in a day, does that make my one totally rational thought insignificant? I think not. If I spend one day totally upbeat, productive, and happy - are my sad feelings any less valid? No. So, progress looks like this: admitting to yourself that sometimes we won't have things together completely. We acknowledge it, think rationally, and move to the next focus. Progress is not total immunization of our quirks, but it is less demonization for how we work. Our brains - they want to help us survive. The brain gets confused among irrational thoughts and can jump and put us in an emotional turmoil jeopardy. But, be kind to yourself. Be kind to the "miswires" in your brain - because it cares for you and wants you to survive. Strive. What does progress look like? I'm not sure if I can see mine - I'm not sure what it totally looks like. But, maybe, look in a mirror. See yourself - the reflection of desire. Aspire to be who you are, judgement free. In a sort of clarity, you can see. Ask yourself:
"What does progress look like?"
It looks a bit like you.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 9:02 PM UTC
(start with a bow and a swish)
we are a thousand beating symphonies
variations of a familiar theme
treble clefs and four/four rhythms
chord progressions up to E
(sorrow and anger and love and hate)
arpeggios and interludes
minuets quadrilles and waltzes
the refrains, the fermatas, the reprises
we are a thousand sweeping overtures
(the last note rings through an empty auditorium)
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
The darkened corners of forgotten yesterdays clouded the view as the gaping maw of need stared across the chasm at necessity . Almost as if there was a reason for it’s contiguous constituency it reflected the myriad animations of it’s creator . Crystalline forms in infinite diversity beyond the subjective sublimations of mass crowded the integral forms of it’s subjugated spontaneities perversions as the well of it’s unity sang of the cause for it’s being .
The single-mindedness of it’s recumbent beginnings were all but lost to the ramifications of itself as the children of it’s repulsion waxed and waned .
The twinkling of an eye , the integration of ages , countless extrapolations of it’s *********** vanished into the nature of their being as the tainted refuse of their wanton progressions began their mutual processions back to the source , or wandered through the surrealistic ethereum of their eternally predestined nothingness .
Causalities purity reigned as all became the reason for it’s own creation , and vanished into the implosion of it’s own ***********
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
It may be sunny
but I'm drowsy in ecstasy
with my brown bear sittin next to me
perplexed with he
she texted the
but after regrets the deed
remembering to hed
her heart
put that too good love back in the cart
and switch to art
cuz passionate progressions always
fall apart
Press restart.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
Caress my neck softly
Hold my body close to yours
Tempt these sweet chord progressions
Acoustic affection’d freestyle
Finger my frets with delicate touches
Mother of pearl inlays sweat
Bending vibrating strings
Crank my volume **** high
Sliding capos moan
Play lead in poetic rifts
Soundhole oozes sensual melodies
Gouging pickguard’s scars
Tune me in the key of your love
Strum me hard…
Let’s make beautiful music together
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
I’m high and low pressure systems
forming a cyclone over still water.
I’m an alternation, a series of changes,
A nomad with sand on my heels from
every corner of this nation.
I’m green, magenta, sunny yellow,
cerulean, and turquoise;
but most of all—I am Black.
So don’t look at me, then attempt to
test that.
I’m a child in constant wonder.
I’m the pilgrim and the chief,
the tree and every one of its leaves,
the occasional low, thick cloud
or a forgotten rain puddle, filling
the ground.
A lover, because I’ve fought;
a winner, because I’ve lost.
I am different, in that I am everyone;
I am the difference, in being the sum.
I’m the fruit of ripe relationships,
the mulch of those that have soured,
the taste to make your lips pucker,
the voice to uplift you, to empower.
That song with a melody easy to forget,
but with words that penetrate—
That dream you can’t quite remember,
but with sensations you can’t escape—
I’m a string of ideas, of art,
of symphony. Minor chord progressions
of the highest order,
a dissonant masterpiece.
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 10:35 AM UTC
Fixed on repeat with stagnation as aural salvation
they dance to the archaic discord
entombed in relics from 1973
rooted in pensivity behind the repetition of each melody
they've heard this one before
used it to pick themselves up from the floor
an effigy to lost lovers
who used to sit beside them
smoking on the balcony
paying duty to a capitalist society
taxing themselves with each breath.
They never hear the strings breaking in silence
dancing through progressions
which paint plaintive signs of the times
disparity haunts the rhymes
but nostalgia stole the show
apathy drives ignorance
to the songs, they don't know.
Artists gorge on the decline
too many pills to swallow
so instead, they'll do another line.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
i see Charles Mingus crying like cool jazz.
i see Lauren's head in my lap.
i see The Stranger spin on the turntable.
i see a broken night.
i see haze high near the ceiling.
i see headphone cords, whose ends hurt my ears.
i see the same chord progressions driving me mad.
i see love fading in a passerby's eyes.
i see chapped lips.
i see my debit card, i run it as credit.
i see the 10 foot tall stack of paperwork on my desk.
i see my know-it-all confidence.
I see my god complex.
I see your god complex, and know mine is greater.
i see *** smell it, hear it, taste it, feel it, want it.
i see cars stampeding towards me down the hill.
i see neon signs for strip clubs.
i see prophetic signs, i ignore them.
i see my professor's approval.
i see computer screens.
i see my finger reject the call from a former fling.
i see ****** music.
i see sad faces, day after day.
i see my mind disconnected from my body.
i see boys in fraternities.
i see girls in barely anything at all.
i see my roommates and i yell for no reason--- we laugh.
i see society coming to eat me alive.
i see when i trip.
i see when i get up.
i see when i don't.
i see when i let my friends down.
i see when i pick them up.
i see my eyes closed.
i don't see what they want from me.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
Deep in the heart of trying times;
weighty presence of the end announced
comfort and confusion begging guidance
carried out only in subtle progressions of ideas; the formation of new worlds
wayfaring watchmen of all tomorrows!
bring me to the security of nascent breath!
render me helpless before, finally, I rest and invite nothing further!
that which might delay subconscious affirmation
-of deeply hewn desire
to accept in burning glory the self-searching odyssey within
parallel returns to unmanifest self
in this world of sight and senses
I have seen it too!
-as if to climb the pyramids like slow-growing ivy
choking sunlight
and in it's figure
obscuring all beyond it
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 4:03 PM UTC
sometimes i wonder
is this all we could have been?
this mundane little bubble
and all that lies therein?
all there is to do,
all the places we are needed
all the problems we have caused
and the progressions we've impeded
soothed by the exchange of a small piece of paper
for useless items we're told we need
to fit into an image of a generic person
complicit in a culture we immortalize and breed
or others by their own conviction
in a set of rules older than this
to tell them how to make decisions
and promise them eternal bliss
each taught not to question preachings
or face some form of indefinite sanction
to remain obedient to a master
legitimizing the subsequent action
i don't understand.
how can this be the epitome of civilisation
so full of ignorance and hatred
we fail to see the beauty that surrounds?
how can this be the epitome of human intelligence
that we need glass screens for communication
and lenses to record our every movement?
how can this be the epitome of the human existence
that inequality is perpetuated
and poverty ignored?
one day you will realise what it is you have done
in your desperate bid for power.
you doomed the endurance of your kind
for the sake of one, tall tower.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
The nights have
always been the worst.
Sitting alone
with a drink
and some drugs.
Close to the
open window,
listening to
the sounds of
the night.
Passing cars and sirens,
a couple arguing
somewhere down the alley,
a whistle set loose
by one of the young
whose turn it
is now to
own the same
night that I
once did.
That slow and
lonely fog horn
sounding it's
warning every 45
seconds a quarter
mile out.
The mind filing through
the days events.
The failures
and the progressions
that weren't really
any type of
real progress at all.
Flipping through it all
in search of a reason.
Images flashing,
the infants smile
or that girls manicured
fingertips gently
along your face.
Magicly guiding
you into a kiss that you
knew meant nothing
to her at all.
Still drinking,
still using,
still counting the
seconds between the fog horns
sounds of the night.
Still trying to keep it all intact.
Mind,
Heart,
Body,
and Muse.
Waiting on a word,
a line.
Something to put
down and save
for the ages.
The nights are
the hardest,
that they've
always been.
But the night
is usually when
this magic
appears.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Self-Promotion
Shamefully accents each line
of scattered HelloPoetry
Follow me
Like my words
give me significance
We are all children
ignoring ourselves enough
to hide the smiles we form
from the positive-reinforcement
of another desperately embelished
first-world sob story
kicking and screaming
flourishing melodies of sameness
over commonplace chord progressions
**** me for humming along
**** you for harmonizing
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
holy cow, words my god they can be arranged in ways that are musical and metaphorical and melodic yet menacing or mechanical, mean and maniacal.
WORDS GAH! Letters can be like musical notes and different arrangements are different chords, CHORDS CAN BE WORDS! chord progressions=sentences! There's common ones. Like C G Am F. Translated. You are so beautiful. wow so inspired. HOWEVER! one can use the same chords in different fashions to create different songs with totally different meanings LADLKJNF!
you are beautiful, so
are you so beautiful
so you are beautiful
beautiful, so are you
so beautiful, are you?
you beautiful? so are...
I believe this is clear, cleave me if mistaken but please if anything departure is unreason able would you? don't ever, you are beautiful, so beautiful.
WORDS HolY FARCE! not fake or an art satirical to the smart can you please stop shopping at wal mart?
HOLY ENGLISH! so many words i do not know how will I learn to cope with potential nope unavailable but I know I'm granted unalienable rights in my sights if I might just quote the constitution and relieve my blank poor brain of all destitution so I can keep my head high and wear a grin with pride if you wish to die i'll have to pry into your soul and save you, gotta keep you whole because without you there's one less that one may bless and all the folks will miss you oh what a mess so please I confess I need people here to read these rants and turn them into chants to sway some opinion to create a bunch of minions necessary for a change I can believe in but for that to happen i'll have to go to bed and learn to sleep in.
WOW WORD LOVE WORLD OF WORDS!
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC
Pay phone change
48 hour flights
waiting up to hear your voice
monastery bells tolling at dusk
words that are crisp upon the air
war stories told many times over
the blur of life on the other side of the window
my cold hands
kohl rimmed eyes
light through blue stained glass
lazy lovers
nostalgic chord progressions
that dress that you never wore
watery footprints on the pavement
the abandoned shoes on the telephone wire
the marquees we'll never remember
rose-tipped clouds
the way he looked at her, as if it were the first time
silhouetted palm trees
and thoughts
too small to be voiced
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 7:27 PM UTC
I wrapped my lips
around your neck
Drank you down
kept palates wet
You left marks
I know just what
you meant
Bottoms up
choke the message down
Little girl
Do you wanna tear each other apart?
****** set
fire to my *****
Heart shaped x-ray glasses
Now reality is the new *** tape
We're all framed in
Oh,
The transgressions you keep rewinding
Because fantasies just slow you down
Oh,
When you wanna keep moving
find grace in what you're doing
Oh,
The progressions the soul makes
when it follows the
heart beaten
path
Oh,
Can you even last?
I know
sometimes
I can't
I just wanna get off one time
and not apologize
For spilling my guts
trying to center
Your settled half-emptied glass
When all you needed was a refill.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC