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Barton D Smock Apr 2013
I can overhear myself relating to an older brother the eerie feeling I had when jogging past an abandoned shoe factory.  I am more nervous than I think I am and can sense brother’s multilayered disappointment in all things prime.  it’s my stutter surprises me the most.  as if it knows, beforehand, things will never be the same.  once a coward, once is enough.  born in a place that feared me.
Curiosity got the better part of me as thine swiftly splaying fingers
typed Matthew Scott Harris (yours truly) into the google search bar,
lo and behold, and much to my chagrin and amusement,
others with mine namesake constituted roles in various walks of life carrying out their wonderfully wicked whiles and ways,
sans existence covered the gamut earthen realm
from administration of President Dwight David Eisenhower
the celebrity circuit, where his claim to fame and fortune
as movie Producer (born in Jacksonville, Illinois)
for silver screen cinematic debut enterprise finished regal Dimension far off beaten track pocketing a degree (from University of Illinois)
in Civil Engineering, After practicing as an engineer for several years,
a decision made to open a restaurant in Chicago
with nary a harbinger - After operating popular eatery for more than ten years,a whim directed destiny viz hit time to make movies
arced renown sent same nom de plume doppleganger
quest skyrocketing
analogous to aligning skill sets into stratospheric isobar
which exertion pitched head stone carvers to acquire vital context
where next of kin content with obituary hiz death
unexpectedly Tuesday morning, Feb. 24, 2015 of Loudonville),
tomb epitaph incorporated passion as avid outdoorsman,
who loved fishing, hunting, and canoeing. I aced as supervisor with telecommunication company, Telecom Towers Inc.
yet by some stroke of premature pronouncement,
whence during funeral the coffin lid rise a jar
scaring the s**t out the backsides per mourners,
where demise found sights drawn to undertake
a totally tubular career as graphic artist from Buffalo
(Educated at RPI), who constantly looks for work today, and to mar
row, out of necessity to pay bills, as prodigy with plugging numbers and spitting out calculations
attained plaudits as financial solvency ****, and par
for the course irresistibly tempted forging credentials -
with a self crafted faux pas star
re: expert as a fraudulent Loan OfficerNMLS # 240801 -
but Youngblood’s hired fretful dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar, while police got tips from wagging tail, and unfortunately butter field bursar ruse landed rising star into clinker
sans Cook County Inmate at age 49
CB NUMBER 19043182, when arrest occurred Tuesday,
January 13, 2015 11:53 AM, and released the next day due to first
time misdemeanor plus absent recidivist incarceration possession
of 5000+ grams of Cannabis, which exposure to magical, miracle
and mystical herb set sites to become a professor
Clinician of pharmacology to help fight the so call "drug war".
Geno Cattouse Sep 2014
Green glass bottle with sediment at the bottom.  dregs ?.

Unshaven rumpled dude on the bus bench. Belly growling. Begs?.

Brown paper bag back pocket, salvation in a swig. shaky legs ?

               Single light shining through the curtain two stories high.

               Front door banging in the breeze wide open Why ?.

  
              Jailhouse libation prune juice and such.

             Can't stay out of system recidivist in the clutch.

             Three hots and a cot the easy life calls.

Drinking gypsy wine and selling smokes.
Safe in the arms of the Law.
Gypsy wine will make you stagger
Then you take a fall.
Barton D Smock Nov 2015
(all titles available on Lulu)


~



from The Blood You Don’t See Is Fake - Sept 2013, 211 pages, 10.00


the recidivist

I can overhear myself relating to an older brother the eerie feeling I had when jogging past an abandoned shoe factory.  I am more nervous than I think I am and can sense brother’s multilayered disappointment in all things prime.  it’s my stutter surprises me the most.  as if it knows, beforehand, things will never be the same.  once a coward, once is enough.  born in a place that feared me.        


within hail

     the flashlight works if you shake it.  this tree is the tree you should use.  every other home is broken.  every other window has in it my house arrested father.  the dog run off, the dog come back.  back with a beauty I will bed to babysit my brother.  the crow is empty.  a plaything, a part of the show.  crow can be blindfold, camera.  can censor among other things an exposed breast.  the fence wasn’t here when we got here so it’s not here now.  an uncle says there is a dog only he can hear.  will say anything to get laid.  in all fairness I’ve failed more than once to insert myself into the loneliness of my person.


a country

i.

I approach the dream as if I'm asleep
the answers written on my hand

ii.

I stick out my tongue
at the mid
born

baby

iii.

I raise awareness by praying
you go through
my exact
hell

iv.

I see myself as my son
writing to his father
about deformities

v.

in a crowd of soldiers
my daughter's head
bobs up and down

as if passed around
on a stick

vi.

it takes an army to imagine
only one thing


assistance

from the boy

(on the soon to be
exact
date
our poverty
matures)

this ballpark
statement:

I did not ask to be born.

     he wants the names
of those
I’ve told.

~

from father, footrace, fistfight - June 2014, 177 pages, 10.00


the gentle detail

in the time it took
his daughter
to soap
her brother’s
cradle cap

the man
was able
to lose
an entire hand.

every now
and now
he corrects me
with a puppet.

there is no place
where nothing should be.


lift

my mother steps on a wooden block
with both feet.

stepping off,
she announces
she is going
on a diet.

my father covers his ears
and gets shaving cream
on them.

he turns me in his hands
like a dish towel
then drops me
at the base of the tree.

I transport
god’s blood
on three
disposable
razors

to my neighbor
who

on a high shelf
has a microscope.


deep still

ghost of snake.  

an adoration
of atypical
young mother
fear.  

mouse needs a toothache.

footwork
heads north.


1998-2014

ideas
are the sickness
health
provides.

thoughts
are two sons
for a jesus
whose fathers

one heavenly, one earthly

never had
to touch
a woman.

the pain is not tremendous.

lo it has kept me
from hurting
my kids.

~

from The Women You Take From Your Brother - Aug 2014, 351 pages, 18.00


joy and joy alone

I broke the boy on my knee because I needed a switch. we ran around an empty crib. I let him catch a breath and he let me kneel. we tiptoed in a manner of mocking past private make-up to which his mother had been softly applied. he drank tea from an eggshell and I declined. I swatted him to let him know I was dying. his bent sister fell asleep and the boy was kind enough to believe her hair was a nightgown. I swatted him again to let him know I would live. the tea was gone. the rest is sadness.


being

a man my mother knows
only in passing
is reading a library book
in the dugout
of his dead
child’s
home
field
while his wife
rounds the bases
pushing
a stray dog
in a grocery cart.

at the dinner table
father says
we’re fasting
in a world
of spirits.

~

from Misreckon - Dec 2014, 115 pages, 9.00


clear heads

while smoking a cigar in the shadow of a nervous minotaur, my father wrote the book on moral isolation. in it, he predicted there would be a television show about hoarders and that it would turn god into a sign from god. my mother read the book cover to cover during her fourth and fastest delivery. if there were edits, she kept them to herself and put his name beside hers on seasonally produced slim volumes of absolute shyness.


untitled (ii)

afraid of my sons, I was born scared.  to my friend of few words I say

a few
words

on how a newborn looks like an undiscovered

fish
fresh
from ghosting
the underfunded
aquariums
of rapes

that occur.  at some point
I’ll tell my daughter

we’ve met.  my father

when he comes
comes

from another
dimension
to bear hug
our dinner guest
who’s arrived
in a mirror.  

mother puts a gun to her foot.


end psalm

god had an earache and I heard thunder. I learned to shrink into the smallness of my brain. I associated money with my father’s funny bone. my mother with the dual church of hide and seek. I went on to have a son with special needs. he cried once. cried milk.

~

from Eating the Animal Back to Life - July 2015, 316 pages, 10.00


off night

when what we thought
had entered
our father
left

we used him
as an alarm

god is coming
and mom
is vacuuming
stones


neglect

it didn’t take long for the frog to become real to those around me. some would bring it back and pat me on the head and some would laugh when I told them it’d never tried to hop away before. some would say it was the frog that was depressed and some would pray for the frog I was lucky to have. when it began to speak, I told myself that’s just how frogs talk. god came to me sooner than most. mom joked that he must’ve known I had a frog to get back to. my sister maintains to this day she had no intention of eating the frog as she was only trying to impress the snake her eyes were made for. by the time I woke her up, her hunger had ballooned and she leapt at me the odd leap of grief.


contact high

it gets so you can’t throw a rock without having a baby. not all of us talk this way but you have to hand something to the ones that do. I’ve seen voodoo dolls with more personality. had my mother’s god been my father’s, I would’ve gone blind from staring at my birth.


themes for country

I am at the truck
getting ice cream
for the overly
nostalgic
girl
who refused
to cut through
the cemetery

~

from Drone & Chickenhouse - Oct 2015, 84 pages, 6.00


chaos

brother drinks water enough to shock the devil. on the inside, he’s all doll. I shake him for show might our sisters travel in pairs. I used to talk but had to close my mouth when the soft spot on his head kept my mother from her toes. it’s the second stone that really lands.


deep scene

speech itself is a failed translation

dreaming is a farm

a mother
makes it as far
as mailbox

bear
to fish
there’s water
in the water

is, today’s mousetrap
tomorrow’s

shoe


language

word gets around
the schoolyard
pretty quick
that my father
drove his body
off a cliff
so god
would have a nail
hot enough
to touch.

I have a tooth
can make it
snow.
Yo...over here in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
all the other ones (that follow below)...
them guys imposters I write – every ƒµ©** one.

Curiosity and discretion
got the better part of me valor
as mined fingers typed Matthew Scott Harris
(quite some time, but I felt compelled
to share today March 13th, 2020)

into google search bar, lo and behold and
much to my chagrin and amusement,
others with mine namesake constituted
roles in various walks of life
carrying out their whiles and ways, sans
existence covered the realm

from administration of President
Dwight David Eisenhower
the celebrity circuit, where his
claim to fame and fortune
as movie Producer

(born in Jacksonville, Illinois)
for silver screen cinematic
debut enterprise finished
regal Dimension far
off beaten track sans degree

(from University of Illinois)
in Civil Engineering. After practicing
as an engineer for several years,
a decision made to open a restaurant
in Chicago with nary a har
binge er - After operating
popular eatery for more than ten years,

a whim directed destiny
viz hit time to make movies
curved renown skyrocketed quest
analogous to aligning skill sets
into stratospheric isobar
which exertion pitched
head stone carvers to acquire vital context

where next of kin content
with obituary hiz death
unexpectedly Tuesday morning,
Feb. 24, 2015 of Loudonville),
tomb epitaph incorporated passion
as avid outdoorsman,
who loved fishing, hunting
and canoeing. I aced as supervisor with

telecommunication company,
Telecom Towers Inc.
yet by some stroke
of premature pronouncement,
whence during funeral
the coffin lid rose a jar
scaring the s
t out the

backsides per mourners,
where demise found sights
drawn to undertake
a totally tubular career
as graphic artist from Buffalo
(Educated at RPI), who
constantly looks for work

today and tomorrow,
out of necessity to pay bills,
and as prodigy with numbers
attained plaudits as

financial solvency ****, and par
for the course irresistibly
tempted forging credentials -
with self crafted faux pas star

re: expert as a fraudulent
Loan Officer NMLS # 240801
but Youngblood’s hired fretful
dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar,

while police got tips from
wagging tail, and unfortunately
butter field bursar ruse
landed rising star into clinker
sans Cook County Inmate at age 49

CB NUMBER 19043182,
when arrest occurred Tuesday,
January 13, 2015 11:53 AM,
and released the next day due to first        
time misdemeanor plus absent
recidivist incarceration possession
of 5000+ grams of Cannabis,

which exposure to magical, miracle
and mystical herb set sites
to become a professor
Clinician of pharmacology
“bushed” to help fight
the so call forever "drug war".
Re: ah... what better way to while away the countless leisure

hours,while coronavirus (covid-19) assails humanity across thee

globe? (covid-19) assails humanity across thee globe? he answer to

that question my friend... explained within attached gobbledygook

(safe at any speed to open without latex gloves, nor face mask)

courtesy - Curiosity got the better part of me as thine fingers typed

Matthew Scott Harris into the google search bar lo and behold and

much to my chagrin and amusement, others with mine namesake

constituted roles in various walks of life carrying out their whiles

and ways sans existence covered the realm from administration of

President Dwight David Eisenhower the celebrity circuit, where his

claim to fame and fortune as movie Producer (born in Jacksonville,

Illinois) for silver screen cinematic debut enterprise finished regal

Dimension far off beaten track sans degree (from University of

Illinois) in Civil Engineering, After practicing as an engineer for

several years, a decision made to open a restaurant in Chicago with

nary a harbinger - After operating popular eatery for more than ten

years, a whim directed destiny viz hit time to make movies curved

renown skyrocketed quest analogous to aligning skill sets into

stratospheric isobar which exertion pitched head stone carvers to

acquire vital context where next of kin content with obituary hiz

death unexpectedly Tuesday morning, Feb. 24, 2015 of

Loudonville), tomb epitaph incorporated passion as avid

outdoorsman, who loved fishing, hunting and canoeing. I aced as

supervisor with telecommunication company, Telecom Towers Inc.

yet by some stroke of premature pronouncement, whence during

funeral the coffin lid rose a jar scaring the s**t out the backsides per

mourners, where demise found sights drawn to undertake a totally

tubular career as graphic artist from Buffalo (Educated at RPI), who

constantly looks for work today tomorrow, out of necessity to pay

bills, and as prodigy with numbers attained plaudits as financial

solvency ****, and par for the course irresistibly tempted forging

credentials - with a self crafted faux pas star re: expert as fraudulent

Loan OfficerNMLS # 240801 - but Youngblood’s hired fretful

dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar, while police got tips

from wagging tail, and unfortunately butter field bursar ruse

landed rising star into clinker sans Cook County Inmate at age 49

CB NUMBER 19043182, when arrest occurred Tuesday, January 13,

2015 11:53 AM, and released the next day due to first time

misdemeanor plus absent recidivist incarceration possession

of 5000+ grams of Cannabis, which exposure to magical, miracle

and mystical herb set sites to become a professor Clinician of

pharmacology to help fight the so call "drug war."
here lies the bones of a
copyist
on his tomb engraved the
plagiarist
of this trade he made quite a
fist
being the consummate repeat
recidivist

a fellow who stole other's
verse
his thievery of a terrible
curse
no contrition didst he
imburse
for taking from their word
purse

of pirating and pilfering
this memorial stone
openly declares
a plundering mortal
unapologetic of his
so called wares
You know that feeling,
the falling, reeling, spinning
one?
well
I got it.

A minute is sixty seconds long
mine's gone on forever.

I open fire on the unknown and
get blown away by the recoil.

I suppose because it's Wednesday
and that kind of day is always that way.

Still that feeling though and
you know what I mean

and not being a recidivist
I don't feel that I've missed
anything
but
that's another tale
for a short stretch
in Ossining.
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2022
Strangely and despite common belief.....

I believe in serendipity's place in every man's life.
But witness the translucence of truths espoused by many of my bellicose, fellow man.
See the random inconsistencies that arise, almost subconsciously, in the discourse of everyday animated conversational exchanges.
Doubt the sincerity of the man who is a known, recidivist borrower and poor re-payer of loans.
Take enormous pleasure in blue sky, heroic trees and white billowing clouds.
Encompass warmth and affection for he or she who reciprocate something of value.
Look for the best in the person before me
Hate and loath those who spread malevolence and warfare on the planet.
But am reduced to tears by an unanticipated kindness or sensitivity.
Appreciate and embrace the bonds of family and really close friends....

And commit my life and everlasting love to the wonderful woman, Janet, who shares the good times and the bad in this life, irrespective, I might add, of my failings and many, many shortcomings.

M.
Foxglove@Taranaki
NEW ZEALAND
21 Feb 2022
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2021
Pathogens spontaneously perforate the way
When ideological madmen infiltrate the day,
When fools bearing doctorates infect with excess
Where halfwits in spandex concur in distress.

For intimidation's message of ignorant plight
So paves this pathway, cadenced in fright,
Belligerence caste in a dark hue forlorn
Obliterates normality's wavering form.

A flight of justice, flung far away,
Impinging the right in this wrong on this day.
What price this quest for stark racial gain
When the conquest won, is a recidivist's pain.

M.
24th February 2021
Norbert Tasev Aug 2021
You stayed forever indebted, home-stuck sticky! Nirvana-son of misfortune, nesting for nothing! Nobody's chase! You have long since denied yourself from the Executioner Squadron and the future-marchers have left it here as prey! In the catacomb flights of your cut-off dreams, like watchful moles, you often wander in disillusionment with yourself! Dying despair also seems to be deliberately overwhelmed; you couldn’t fit in between superficial worlds! No one can comfort your bloodthirsty eyes crying on a bag!
 
The petrified seal of the collected footprints will continue to bleed in your heart in a drum! "As your eternal companion, eternal fear and dreadful doubt still strikes you!" You deliberately don’t gass before dressed means! You may have had enough of squeaking in front of a lot of forbidden doors and stigma padlocks: as a selfish recidivist, you can't get your shadow-loving, redeeming loneliness from happiness either! "Superstitious deer eyes would call you desert spawning lights to give a shadow to your heart!"
 
On your knocking window, the Silence Seekers are waiting for you as a dense mass of nights at night! - Used personality traits like ragged seizures lurk in a pile! He whispers before sweeping secrets and then captivates the unsuspecting; silence still anchors in restless hearts! By pulling on invisible antennae needles, how can sincere trust be achieved?! Savior, love urge?! Gemstones raised from stone terrify awake-cheeky walkers hiding in night robes! "It's a long-learned mimic of playful ease."
Whereby yours truly presages and doth abhor
nothing short of an imminent civil war
dwarfing insurrection on January 6, 2021
oddly enough even reducing
ordinary decibels to a mute whisper
madding crowd trumpeting cacophony of ˈthȯr
drowning out sense and sensibility
allowing, enabling, and providing
golden opportunity for anarchy to run rampant
one issuing, earthshaking, and booming
as one collective soul with pride

against prejudice queercore
amidst pandemonium of lawlessness
voices at the forefront ear splitting din
most all social media platforms
buzzfeeding, jump/kickstarting,
and twittering bigotry,
gender inequity, and misogyny nevermore
gender diversity celebrated
reveling harmoniously think
arranged marriage of Kokila and Kishore
parents (most likely deceased)

of Menil and Amit,
one former best high school buddy
with my youngest sister Shari Todd
for most of her sixty three years an herbivore,
and in most respects the antithesis of Eeyore,
(a pessimistic, gloomy, depressed,
anhedonic, old grey stuffed donkey
and friend of title character, Winnie-the-Pooh),
the former would never stand a chance stayin alive
during the reign of brontosaur,
and other so called terrible lizards.

Aforementioned fatalistic political forecast
would translate as absolute zero freedoms
as entrusted with Declaration of Independence,
and Constitution, which incendiary rhetoric
already trumpeted courtesy Republican
dictator wannabe, who will eviscerate
any and all social progressive policies
would essentially leave a **** government
devoid of recognizable Democratic polity.

Lemme plagiarize myself
and express sardonic wit
alliteration with the letter "R,"
I gleefully, playfully, and zestfully transmit
the following poem,
the proto antagonist
will nary even garner an obit
no dead giveaway signs
only brave hearts pointing *******
subtly signaling welcome
to the black parade, the sole intermit
where gewgaws (trolls)
with orange hair sold.

revealing Ronald **** revisited.

Regarding ridiculous rhymeless
ruminative rhythm rankles readers.

Repugnant racist Republican reviled -
rickettsia re:itch ruler
rapaciously ravaged
revered reverential rubric
radical ruthless renegade
rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts
Refrains retaining remnant
redolent regal, resplendent rafters
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights
ruckus ricochets revenant reign
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick;
render ruinous ramifications
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.

Rabid ****** rictus
rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod
routing reigning royalty.

Reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality
rides Rolls Royce
relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.

Riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response
revisit rancorous restrictive
redlined realigned rightward rivets
Robocop ridiculously
rubber-stamped reorganization
recalcitrant reactors release rapture
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance
raconteurs rack rubles.

Red room reflects Republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated
rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory
rapier robed robbers
ransack reliquary resounding retaliation
retaliatory redcoat regnum
reformation rightly remembered
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
Raison d'être rosily revered
rifled relics raffled
rookie raves ripe rackful
rubenesque reliably ranked
refulgent rotundity requisite
requirement re: reappointment
road-tested, roadworthy
redeem reapportion routed role.

Reprehensible reassignment
rapidly recognizes response
rife rampage removes respectability
responsible roused restitution refuted
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway
railroad reverberates rivalry.

Reflexive ramrod reaction
reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation;
Rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.

Requisition requires resilient reseeding republic
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing
rare recount restoring recondite
renown reprobate Rapunzel.

Republican representatives
rejoice reclaiming reins
registering ******* romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
Page 641 Picador paperback edition
“I left Paris this morning”
And my own location now doesn’t interest me
All that matters is the emptiness
The hollowness one feels
After the back cover of the book
Slams like a prison gate
Leaving me an instant recidivist
Yearning for the paper dungeon
Of course I never believed my sentence
120 chapters covering the known
History of the world would ever end
Denied the rushing finish as surely as
Belbo ignored Diotallevi’s wasting illness
Failed to register how quickly my eyes
Scanned the lines a kayak caught
In the cascading currents of the plot
Until like a babe
Who had fought with all its might
To stay within its aqueous egg
I find myself obscenely
Outside the safety of the walls
Prescribed within the arc of
That omniscient Pendulum
Needing desperately to escape
The fiction of reality inside
A new reality of fiction

— The End —