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Barton D Smock Jul 2016
depictions of reentry, parts i thru iii, were published at FORAGE poetry journal on WordPress...please check them out.


~

depictions of reentry** (iv)

/ the tadpole torching my stomach in the museum of the heartless alligator

/ the spider the star in suicide’s eye

/ the crow in the devil’s purse

~

depictions of reentry (v)

/ you can work here for nine months

/ it’s not like riding a bike
it’s more
like kneeling
in the center
of a stickman’s
nightmare

/ never you mind
the bloated
baby’s
yellow
tooth

/ at least the sick

they confuse
death

~

depictions of reentry (vi)

night terror, the handwriting
of imago’s
child…

/ resurrection, a memoir

~

depictions of reentry (vii)

/ the hands and the crushed mind they crawl from

/ god of the briefly ugly

/ the homeless child of nostalgia’s native

/ graveyard
our game
of telephone

~

depictions of reentry (viii)

we laugh about them now

scarecrows
the stepchildren
of apocalypse…

pregnancy as suicide prevention.

be wowed
by stuff
on earth.

~

depictions of reentry (ix)

before I got sick
there was a sound
my mother
could make
and a bird
perched
on the arm
of a snowman…

angels, yeah

some
grab their ears
when trapped

~

depictions of reentry (x)

the unlit candle

desertion’s birthday



the voice
is not god’s
that experiments
on children

but ask
away



the dog we buried
is sometimes
on fire

watched
we think
by our sister’s
cooking

~

depictions of reentry (xi)

and in dreaming
of what to use
for its body
and its blood

the devil
began

to starve / when it snowed
it snowed

on a tooth / this was in

the same
Ohio

where brothers
ruin
now

with hiccups

games
of hide-and-seek

/ anyway, sister said the crow had it coming

and I made this face we called

god
as a boy
tasting
a star…

~

depictions of reentry (xii)

mom needs a jar of jelly to call the priest. try as he might, my brother can’t seem to get his tongue stuck to the oven door. my hands are here to hide the fact I’m wearing gloves. dad snaps three pictures before passing out. the voodoo dolls of my invisible babies have passed each other underground. I am thinking of things you can do.

~

depictions of reentry (xiii)

a suicide
from my past,

a surprise
party
for death…

/ if I lose my voice long enough
will they let me
wear
the mask

~

depictions of reentry (xiv)

the newborn
yawns, reveals

god
to be
a biter



I don’t
in my sleep
do anything

let alone
impressions



it’s hell on an image

the mirror’s
alibi

~

depictions of reentry (xv)

I went outside and hid god under a rock then went inside and put a pillow over my brother’s face. don’t worry, my brother lived and god grew stronger. in fact, by morning, my mother was so at peace she finished my brother off with a cotton ball. my dad bought a boat and said the older they are the smaller the mouth. people came from a mirror called practice.

~

depictions of reentry (xvi)

with a sock in its mouth

suicide
the birthday
ghost

/ having heard
of the shadow
animal’s
ear
for the hand
puppet’s
collapse /

passes through
a wall
into a room
where a balloon
eating out
a prophet
stops not

to hiss
Ahsaki G Aug 2015
Why Reentry? some may ask
A waste of time, a too big task?

They committed a crime, let be what will be.
Lock them up and throw away the key?

It’s not that easy as you will see
Because they eventually get out and neighbor you and me.

The deck has been shuffled and we don’t always choose our card
Some of these inmates weren’t raised, they grew up, and life was extremely hard.

Some call it dumb choices, others youthful
indiscretion
Some were forced into these positions by the
culture of oppression.

Now, there’s no place for pity, but many of the
stories are untold
With firm and consistent direction, we can see new lives unfold.

Some have never had a checking account or paid a legitimate bill
These are basic everyday functions that each of us can help instill.

It’s the ones that want the assistance to get back on their feet
Those are the ones that we prepare to identify their needs and meet.

That’s what reentry is… preparing them for another chance
To try and make better choices, and in life have a better stance.

None of us are angels; some could’ve actually caught a case
One more dumb decision could have landed OUR butts right in their place.

Can you imagine life without a job, no way to pay a bill?
Can you imagine no money for medicine if you child or spouse was ill?

Unable to get a car to take you from place to place
Unable to pride fully look another man
directly in his face.

This “second prison” hinders them as a result of their crime
This second prison should not exist once they’ve done their time.

Their families and children need them, it’s hard enough out there
These fathers should be taking care of their family’s welfare.

Children raised without a dad are at high risk to offend and fail
By helping their fathers do better we help the children stay out of jail.

Care and custody is what we’re tasked to do
The examples that we all set is what they will look too.

We can’t do it all by ourselves, resources are what we need
Volunteers and community resources help US help them to succeed.

We have to make them better then when they first came in
For some it’s a fresh start for their improved life to begin.

With hundreds of thousands of  inmate releasing year by year
Reentry increases readiness thus reducing public fear.

So inmate is their title for now, but one day they will be out again
We can increase the likelihood that they do not reoffend.

Let’s rally behind reentry efforts, we have much to give
Let’s help secure our own safety and the way that we ALL live.
Barton D Smock Jun 2016
35% off all print books on LULU today with coupon code of LULU35

mine books can be found, there.  

~
some recent poems:

[loneliness]

the only
animal
recognized
by the magician’s
one-trick
pony

/ touch
giving itself
a childhood

/ an alien’s
crucifix

~

[liftoff]

the scarecrow loving puppet put a pop gun to the head of the soundman’s lamb.

-

my last meal
was my mother’s
voice.

~

[the cross]

the haunted clock
in tornado’s
house

the weightlifter’s flower

the rabbit’s
bliss

~

[scare]

I know it is nothing

or a relative
of nothing

what mice
make
of a mouse
possessed

/ my distance from the unborn widens

~

[homage]

like some verbally abused parrot

the crow
the phone’s
god

~

[depictions of reentry (iv)]

/ the tadpole torching my stomach in the museum of the heartless alligator

/ the spider the star in suicide’s eye

/ the crow in the devil’s purse

~

[depictions of reentry (v)]

/ you can work here for nine months

/ it’s not like riding a bike
it’s more
like kneeling
in the center
of a stickman’s
nightmare

/ never you mind
the bloated
baby’s
yellow
tooth

/ at least the sick

they confuse
death

~

[depictions of reentry (vi)]

night terror, the handwriting
of imago’s
child…

/ resurrection, a memoir

~

[depictions of reentry (vii)]

/ the hands and the crushed mind they crawl from

/ god of the briefly ugly

/ the homeless child of nostalgia’s native

/ graveyard
our game
of telephone

~

[depictions of reentry (viii)]

we laugh about them now

scarecrows
the stepchildren
of apocalypse…

pregnancy as suicide prevention.

be wowed
by stuff
on earth.

~

[depictions of reentry (ix)]

before I got sick
there was a sound
my mother
could make
and a bird
perched
on the arm
of a snowman…

angels, yeah

some
grab their ears
when trapped

~

[depictions of reentry (x)]

the unlit candle

desertion’s birthday

-

the voice
is not god’s
that experiments
on children

but ask
away

-

the dog we buried
is sometimes
on fire

watched
we think
by our sister’s
cooking
The pains of reality justify the
Deep seated sorrow of man.

The vulture encircles me
Events surrounded by mystery
Enveloped in insanity
The human race is
Captivated by mystery
Doomed to repeat history

Collusion to bestow unmitigated
Sorrow upon my being

Simply put, I am
Damaged goods

Speak softly now
And choose your next thoughts
Carefully,
For the devil has called
My soul to dance

Reckless, unmitigated
Abandonment
Of mind, body, and soul
Fruitless searches
Forever numb
Longing to feel whole

Deep beneath the rolling waves
Lies serenity
Amongst sunken slaves
Deep inside my brain
The labyrinth of my mind
Memories that
I've left behind
Gone with the breeze
Above arid land
Somewhere lost in the desert
Where only shamans understand
Somewhere locked in the innocence
Of childhood frailty
Misplaced in the universe
Perpetuating reality
Walking alongside
All the gods of the ages
Bounding across time
In history's pages
Vacated with the morals
Of man
Lost in the seams of
Our lives
In the absence of the infinite
Shared hallucinogenic cries
Gone with the limbs of
The serpent
Ignored individuality dies
The reflection of man tainted,
For it is where the devil hides
Looming in the shadows
Of irresistible allure
No acquittal of our sins
A race ****** to remain
Impure
Violence surrounding our
Unequivocal, dastardly instincts
Perched in the forefront of our
Perceived selves
Selfish, devilish
Acts of kindness
The misfortune of the fortunate
Given all the amenities
Of a king's meal
Without the sensation of
Taste
Washed away with our
Dreams of betterment
Laying upon the chests
Of mythological beasts
Souls left rotting
Souring with ferment

Supreme consciousness
Arouses the senses
Invent my future with the
Myths of the past

You're stuck in a state of
Imaginary grace
Dream myself into
New bounds of transparency

Cryptic writings
Things left unsaid
Unsure of the real
Or the surreal
Life's slipping away
Once again
Paper in hand
Palms begin to sweat
Indulging into reality
Memories
I long to forget

It seems forever
Since I've been home
Trying to balance
This chemical imbalance
But always, I'm left here
Alone
Believing my dreams real
Realizing my world's surreal
Living with uncertainty
Imagining reality

Where do I go
To hide the pain?
Dual existence?
Acute psychosis?
Trapped inside my own
Brain
There's a place in my mind
I like to hide
Where all of my secrets
I do confide
There's a place I go
To bury the pain
A papered existence
Conducive synopsis,
Abstained

I begin to sweat
My heart screaming
From my chest
Let the feeling pass
Delve into the kingdom
Inability to
Repress
Take me away
To that far off place
Abscond into surreality
Amongst things I dare not
Confess

Drinking in divinity
Affixed on mortality
Will I die in this place?
Unable to resurface
Back in reality

Stuck running in circles
On a surface-less plane
Can't escape the shadows
Can't remove the pain
Simple design
Made up of
Over thought complexity
A universe separated
Removed from the modern mind
Inexorably

Amputation of
The mutation
That is the
Human race
Segregation of this
Charred realm
From other wordly
Space
We live
We die
And death begins it
Reinvent our minds
Ignite our passions

Drowning in a gene pool
Of degenerates
Souls thrashing
Wildly, forlorn
Plunged into unmitigated
Evil
Of a race that destroys
The unborn

Lachrymose gaze
Upon the living dead
A thin film of separation
Through which lies
Are fed
Understanding the weakness
Into which we are
******
For shed blood
Forces cries
Ripping from mother's eyes
Witnessing her own demise
As a piece of her
Slowly dies
For father's impenitent
Fantasies once dreamed
Torn away from aching
Fingers
Left ravaged,
Impotent

Gazing at you
Under the cloak of
Intrigue
Watching you struggle
In the tangled lies
You weave

Commanding the head
Of the serpent
Lilith forcing man's
Non-repent
Imposed upon our being
Righteous punishments
Such ramifications
Deemed astringent

Incomprehensible
Allure
Masochists of
Everything pure

Watch the world die
From afar
Irrevocable despair
Promising allegiance
To a life I cannot
Bear

Killing myself with
Indecision
On the perimeter
Of sanity
In the psychotropic prison
And psychotic affliction

Here it comes again
The voices, getting louder
It doesn't feel good anymore
How do I escape
Escaping?
Where do I go when my sanctum
Has been compromised?
Unable to quiet
The insurgents afoot
Incurable, incalculable
Indecision
Lost, finding my way home
Left in between existence
Alongside myself
Alone

The cold, inhuman ability
To sacrifice one's own mind
Hanging onto the coat tails
Of free thought
Journey we now,
Into the nightmare
Ignoring loss of
Comprehension
Vacated laws of
Apprehension
Arming latent illness
Plotting revenge
Beneath the surface

Here it comes again
I hear it getting louder
It doesn't feel good anymore
Who will save the lifeguard
When he's about to drown?

Can you see me?
Can you hear my cry out?
He looks to find
There's no one around

Searching indefinitely
For myself
Lost in another
Under the guise of
Someone else
Why does it matter?
Seemingly insignificant
In a moment of clarity
Just breathe for a moment
Shoved back in reality
"Am I dreaming," he asked
His reflection replied
The answer profound
Unknowingly died

I sold my soul to get here
On the periphery of realization
Stuck on the perimeter of reality
Reentry revoked
Forced to sit idly
As my life passes
Before my eyes

This is my letter
Unable to deliver
This is my life
Unable to decipher
This is my nightmare
That I've never dreamed before

Trapped in the prison
I've constructed on my own
Locked myself in four walls
Of uncertainty
Built in the center of being
Unnoticed by the proprietor
Frailty prevalent
Implosion of the mind
Leading to the ******* of
The insanity
I've come to find

Death looms at the end
Of the candlestick
Walk hand in hand
With me
Fellow traveler of
Uncharted paths
My fellow affliction
With the unknown
Unable to save myself
From the pain I know
Awaits me

Here it comes again
Inescapable, maniacal laughter
It doesn't feel good anymore
And all I ever wanted
Was your guiding hand
Complacent in lies
Forcing deafening cries,
For there will be
No reprise
As my soul flutters
And dies

Death for sale
Ten will take you away
Consumed by the thought of it
No more worry
No more being suppressed
This other kingdom
Unknowingly repressed
Delve deeper into the nightmare
We lie together
Naked
Unashamed
Open to the probing
Fingertips
Of the world
Unable to speak
Sleep paralysis,
Yet this is no dream
Wide eyed
Searching
Unable to scream

Incommunicable desires
No longer latent
Unsuppressed is the disease
Of your discontent
Insufferable, forcible pain
Towards the ones loved most
Catatonic, embryonic
Feeble mind
Please save me from myself

Forgive me, father
For I know not what I do
Forgive me, mother
For I do not blame you

Plastic state of being
Suspended in the viscous
Coagulant of stolen thought
And free will
Drowning in my
Own enjoyment
Of self suffering

How will you remember me?
A trembling voice
To read my eulogy?

Forget the things I should have said
This demoness I've brought to bed
Speaking in riddles
Bewilderment of the senses
Deeper appreciation
For the subjugation of man

War criminals in suits
Pretentious, cowardly vestiges of man
Surrounded by an air of
Undeserved arrogance
Getting fat on young girls
Sending their children to war
Safeguarded by a desk
And the allure of change
Obscene, disgusting animals
Consuming their weight daily
In the profit of drugs and
Devised disease
Profiteers of death
Politicians work the corners

And I fall,
Too weak to carry on
Can't escape my own
Lonely, cold, loveless
Gaze
Black holes in my head
Leading into the depths of
My soul
Emptiness pervading
Madness running rampant
Destroying who I once was
Tearing to pieces
My uniqueness
Stripped of self
Thrown back to march
Within the masses
Towards impending demise

Staring into the eyes
Of the serpent
Turned to stone
Numb to emotion
Numb to pain
I cry out for substance
I miss the person
I used to be
The person you loved
Before you met me

Relieve me now of sin
Unto re-birthing, begin
Relieve me now of this burden
Knowledge and shame
Relieve me now of myself
And self inflicted pain

There it goes again
Making me feel dour
It doesn't feel good anymore
Purge me of this dependency
Ancient, carnal need
Necessity of loathing the infinitesimal

I've met the devil in my dreams
She looked a lot like you
Dreaming in wakefulness
Awakened desire in dreams
What is my intention?

Do I provide a function
Or functionally provide?
Are you living in a nightmare?
Have you gone to sleep and died?

Synesthesia upon awakening
My sensory perceptions
The permutation of the
Infinite

Children of the wilderness
Remove us from the
Impurities of societal disorder
Relieve us of the blandishment
Of media driven fallacies
As the masses are hoarded,
Spoon fed their own flesh,
And directed onward
By the pusillanimous grave robbers
Awarded with the title of
Government official
Given diplomatic immunity
And free reign over
The direction of our lives

There lies a serenity
Beneath the quiet surface
Of the ocean
The ocean floor is vast,
Uninhabited promise

I have developed an acute prescience
For what will come

Man unknowingly conspires
Against himself,
For the good of man
Cannot overcome
The evils of mankind
Conquering in the name of
Worthless ideals
And fruitless endeavors

Conforming to nonconformity
You're only fooling yourself

Wandering about in a dreamy state
With unexplained expectations
For some sort of happy outcome
Welcome to my nightmare
My inescapable kismet
Defend me from myself
I have become
My own worst enemy
Just a hyena looking for
A lions share
More animalistic than
A starving predator

Morally ambivalent
Acting upon
Inconclusive notions
There is no stability
In this loose earth
Sinking ever deeper
Into life unbeknownst
To me
Quicksand enveloping
Sanity and conscience
Leaving behind
Only memories of
What we ought to have
Become

Been suppressing emotion
For so long
Seems like forever
Since I've gone
Numb to the heartache
Blind to the happiness
Rediscovered childhood
At the end of my life

The words become a
Flowing river
My pen cannot dance
Quickly enough
To capture my
Escaping tongue

Discovering escape
Through self sufficiency

Sanity is nomadic
Traveling from
Person to person
Mind to mind
At any given moment
We are all insane
Began as a stream of consciousness and developed into a monster.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
-------------
Time's were hard, we see,
as we look back and wonder, asking
actually,
wondering
is asking who knew, or knows,
at the ha,
a breath acclaiming exhaled, huff.
I know. It acts as if, I am the prey, in quest…

Of course, in slow, out burst… ah wit' ha a aitch
witches silence, 'ear ye, 'ear ye,
order in the court,
the open court before the temple,

gather, all ye hinderers and holder-backs, rally
round the banner over us,
which is love of duty to God and Country,

¿Eh, little man, dis tinctual intel, confi, semper set,
semper fi, do or die, or do and die, why
is not a factor,
or luck is not a factor, time and chance, dance…

dance with this wondering mind, wishing to be
of some significance, when plopped
on the scale,
for what it is worth,
for the cost
to fit the three strand thread
from Delphi riddles writ
in Greek et Ebersprachen Proverbs
from the very early days,
collected fragments
of ever ago, cetera

as far as ships had sailed, we know, now
we have sailed farther,
we have flown, as far as our perception may
hold the experience,
as power we may use, if we choose, buy a ticket,
wait in line…

read one hundred and forty seven maxims,
think three missing, for I was told to find
one hundred and fifty pre-positioning
glyphs, single sign, single signal, taken

as given, one will to wonder, one to wonder why.

I am at the moment Qwerty Guy, qwertying code,
in clear text,
through sieves witches were known, to use,
by King James, the first, of England,
who wrote the book on sorting
witches from his loyal servants,

all sworn to alliegiance,
to the king of two kingdoms, all stand,

Come to order, let the judgement begin…
in this worlds interpretation,
of ἐγγύα πάρα δ'ἄτα
- Swear not at all… Certainty makes madness
after we recall, there needs be order, must be
in the court,
where each man, wombed or un, and possibly,
old or young, or, better said,
old from young, must judge the angels
we each trust to always see things our way
- draw the right vectors, from my POV
- Graphic communication demo
Cartesian, belling thing, seen on two dimensions,
to and from, but here
the point
the readers perceptivity
to the precept set in ifery was,
so quite long ago we lost our grip,

holding, holding, holding that thought,
we thought, a chapter or so ago, you know
we thought,
ever
was a thinkable thing, and we thought it.

------------- Proud of it, too.
Dis, take it
Easy, you are privileged, legated privacy
for knowing what may be known,
in the realm of all you may ever know.

Gnostic mystic alien ties
religamental truth coded moral worth,
stores of stories studied in hope,
choking on the dust, those missing,
layers,
the bringers of peace,
the releasers of the knowing to the chosen,
those selected by childish preferences,
to become the model image
of good done right,
as natural as
sneezing whole armys into being,
after sowing dragon's teeth for years.
All we agree, we may imagine, making up

Messengers from former days,
telling us to mend our ways,
no, telling us, to get a grip.
Oracles or angels, or mass hysteria,
none portrayed as boogermen and witches,
wrinkled hags and fatphag priests in shades.
At you, we see the dust blown.
Celebrate.
A series of sneezes axon-triggering,
deep anti-histamine relief reaction, coming on,

must be something in the wind,
must be my body, reacting, doing what must
be done,
or I shall die, or I shall die, each sneeze,
from within me cries,
no, from inside,
we whisper, prepare, to not spray snot,
in civilized mindspacetime patterning arrays.
Ah, this feels fine, okeh, let life work wonders in the dark.
Chance Oct 2014
Mother moon
Father earth
Why have i been cursed since birth
Brother trees
Sister breeze
Why must you mock me when i can't stand on my own two
feet
Because I'm constantly knocking myself down
Internal fist fights in which i slam my own face into the ground
My heart doesn't pound
It has a slow steady beat
Much like an army who has just faced defeat
Its become less of a mind state and more of a disease
Barton D Smock Aug 2016
I have a new collection available on Lulu, titled [depictions of reentry]

146 pages

book preview on site is book entire

/ I am not close to any named animal.  I flicker

in two
lost

minds.

~  

feel free to share, dissolve, emanate.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/depictions-of-reentry/paperback/product-22811652.html
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
the barn
bat
with the eyes
of a diver’s
shadow…

the dads were all digging
the nudes
were thinking
small

every chair
an electric
chair

in daylight, that motherless grief
Heart had been rended into a void.
Something ghastly.
A change had occurred, and the liberty ahead was suffocating.
This was a hurt, a reeling, preceding an exceedingly painful bout of shaking and the occasion of its call was not you at all.
Quite the opposite, actually.
You were the lofty feeling before a fall.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
I want to be an astronaut,
feel the pulsations of liftoff,
experience the orbiting of crystal seas
taste the rising sun
& the rush of reentry
for eternity.
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2023
Feigning reentry
from places I’ve wandered
Destiny challenged
the status-quo damns

Feigning reentry
from freedom unhindered
Life but a journey
its trappings to ban

Feigning reentry
its price was my freedom
The given agenda
new death to the dream

Feigning reentry
refusal my mantra
Staying in transit
—new rivers unstreamed

(The New Room: March, 2023)
It’s been a long time
Many things have changed
Everything feels strange
Unsettled
Almost new
What was familiar now seems different
Reentry is hard
Cumbersome
Gaining that comfort again
The trust
Finding the rhythm
Knowing what’s what
It’s a new day
In a changed world
Hard to know what to expect
Danger still lurks
It’s not a soft landing
Reentry
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
a woman places my hand in the stomach of god

as fire
the stickman’s
barber
betrays
my hair
Barton D Smock Jun 2016
we laugh about them now

scarecrows
the stepchildren
of apocalypse…

pregnancy as suicide prevention.

be wowed
by stuff
on earth.
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
I went outside and hid god under a rock then went inside and put a pillow over my brother’s face.  don’t worry, my brother lived and god grew stronger.  in fact, by morning, my mother was so at peace she finished my brother off with a cotton ball.  my dad bought a boat and said the older they are the smaller the mouth.  people came from a mirror called practice.
Chris Apr 2015
-

Tracing the cosmos
In wide open spaces
Only to face
The dreams that I wander
A lonely existence
Among constellations
Orbiting my desires
Now eclipsed by you

Gazing down
The earth below seems faded
As this distance counts
Light years like glazed donuts
Tempting from a window, as a kid
Licking the glass,
Never tasting the prize

Lunar phases
Become poetic phrases
Cosmic dust descending
Caught in gravity’s pull
Rocketing towards a target
Programmed for a safe
Reentry into your heart

The craft juts and jolts, screeching
Amidst the desolate silence of space
“Houston, we have a problem.
She needs to know how I feel,
how much I love her...”
Static echoed frequency hums
Transmission ended
All hope burned up
Crash landed
Barton D Smock Aug 2016
/ my newest self-published collection of poems, [depictions of reentry], is available now on Lulu.

will send for free a hard copy to anyone interested in writing a review – make request to bartonsmock@yahoo.com

book preview on site is book entire

some poems from it:

[liftoff]

the scarecrow loving puppet put a pop gun to the head of the soundman’s lamb.

-

my last meal
was my mother’s
voice.

~

[attic radio]

the fattest baby in the nursing home can’t chew with its eyes open.

it’s a slow day.

looking into the future
a skeleton’s
dog
sees only
sticks.

lightning
marks
the robot’s
church.

~

[meditations on depth]

the mouth
of the thing
that eats
in fog
a doll’s
head

-

the holy spirit
high
on the bricklayer’s
toothache

-

a cat person
at death’s
door

-

poverty

a belonging
moved
by many
mirrors

~

[seeing]

bored as a slaughterhouse

crow / angel

on a skateboard

~

[depictions of reentry (xxi)]

the barn
bat
with the eyes
of a diver’s
shadow…

the dads were all digging
the nudes
were thinking
small

every chair
an electric
chair

in daylight, that motherless grief

~~

/ my first non self-published chapbook, [infant cinema], is available from **** Press.

I currently have three signed copies available for free- make request to bartonsmock@yahoo.com

excerpt, here:

my child. my diver who wets the bed. my worrier who rescues domestic scenes for animals accused of gaslighting. my swimmer. bather of grasshoppers. my lovely bird alone in an airplane.

~

two things to do on an empty stomach are:  

hold a séance.  

follow the spider’s trail of abandoned birthmarks.  

~

in the video, the young woman is being force-fed cake by a man with a ruined tongue. my mother can’t eat and watch at the same time. your mother is holding me and wondering what happened to this thing. our fathers are veering into the realm of film criticism. where you are depends wholly on my sister’s makeup. god’s parents have no concept of time.


~~

/ also, ending tomorrow, is the goodreads giveaway for my self-published thing, [FOUR], which includes four recent titles of mine in full along with some newer poems.  

some poems from it:

[the many]

as an uncle
can enter
any garage
and sense
the absence
of a nailgun
so
can a holy man
prepare
a meal
in the missing
church

~

[purlieu]

a bruise, a school

of fish.  a caterpillar

crossing

the floor
of hell.  a thought

sick
to a son’s
stomach, a winter

glove
in spider’s
nightmare.          

~

[mouthings]

a brother
dodges
suicide
with a piece
of paper
that doesn’t
work. a mother’s
blood

goes white
at the ink
of amnesia.

bus stop, breastmilk
there was

no me.

at what would god
not
be caught
dead? speaking

is how we talk
to the words
we say.

~

[stratum]

two brothers come to blows over which sister likes fast food more.  a man we want to love is shadowboxing a snowdrift from the parable of touch.  blood is a food group.  I pray to my hair.  call my footwork by name.  take my time

with amnesia.  

baby facts include being born again in the museum you were carried to.
Jeremy Betts May 2022
What would actually happen if I silenced the negativity and overcame my crippling anxiety?
Afraid I'll find that it's genetically built into my DNA or could only be removed surgically, it could get messy
It would be a ****** end cause it's not like I do the professionally, I live recklessly
Every day I wake up angry and progressively get to the point where it's to heavy to advance any, it's shackled me
You think I chose this way of life to be what defines me? Hell no, it came about organically, in spite of me
Now it's just a part of my anatomy staking claim to the entire piece of property
I look in the mirror and notice my biggest fear, I don't see me in the reflection aggressively starring back at me
The face I see is dramatically distorted photography of who I use to be mixed with something far more ugly
A sloppy photo copy, I barely recognize this beastly imagery, it could be that maybe I'm just not seeing clearly
Clear my thoughts and rinse my eyes quickly then open again but this time slowly
Seriously?! Still no shred of beauty and its worse if I look inwardly which I refuse do cause I'm far to cowardly
It's scary like a fairy tale before its picked up by Disney, originally a horror story that's been pasted down generationaly
I try saying I'm sorry to myself but the words don't come easy, at times all together escaping me
Then a thought hit me squarely knocking me down a peg or three
Who am I without this dark energy? Could I pick myself out of a crowd if the hurt and pain left permanently?
Would I, could I recognize me through the tricky shrubbery surrounding me completely
It's literally a fixture rooted in my history, it's overtaken not just my psyche but is now plain to see physically
Could I realistically live with hope and decency if they took up long term residency?
What would I do with happy if it moved onto my private property and claimed the territory?
Would I properly embrace the new me or hate the empty inside, the vacancy neon flickering annoyingly
I shouldn't be use to sorrow being at max capacity, I wanted change so badly but it's slippery
What would I do with the time I once spent waiting for the next tragedy to come and challenge my grip on reality
Every catastrophe seamlessly falls into place naturally like it was meant to be, designed specifically for me
I used to use comedy to hide the tragedy, at the time it seemed like a decent strategy
Let it live in my head rent free, the tenant had a tendency to use my thoughts against me while ignoring every desperate plea
I don't want to live in my history, not even temporarily but my mind doesn't work correctly, doesn't give a **** about me personally
Turned over the key to a better me then was torn apart strategically with a savagery not seen in this century
Eventually it caught up and changed my trajectory, placed on a one way street not labeled properly
So I may not come back on the scene, may not have that kind of longevity, I guess I'll have to wait and see
But I'm obviously past the point of no return, the objects in my rearview are closer than they appear to be
And the windshield is to ***** to see the road directly in front of me complicating my journey
I can't guarantee I won't crash and burn on reentry but I will say there definitely...probably...most likely won't be a search party
Is it Stockholm or gluttony, like it or not the recipe for what not to do will be my legacy
The distinction is tricky when I hold no empathy for myself so I throw up my hands hopelessly, never in victory
This isn't the way it was supposed to be but I never had a say in my destiny, I didn't even know that was a possibility
Honestly, if I had any dignity it would significantly alter my whole reason to be
But my will has been ripped from me brutally, I don't want to go on but I would like to stay, a twisted duality
An unnatural complexity, hypocrisy just another personality disorder, a horder of the impossibility unlucky
Adding to the pile that's already a burden to my humanity, no happily ever after, this is reality
Animosity aimed directly at my entirety, to tired to be wrestling with the same old ****, pushing 40
If I don't have this figured out by now what's the likelihood I'll learn new tricks? There isn't any
That should be all I need but ultimately I know it won't be cause I'm the embodiment of misery
To change that would mean I'd be a stranger in my own body, an anomaly
And that frightens me to my very core so here I sit in purgatory for all eternity
Hold your pity, I'm okay with it cause no matter how gory it's gonna get, at least it's a bit of familiar territory
Comfort found within the familiarity I have with the words in the retelling of a not so family friendly ghost story

©2022
Barton D Smock Jun 2016
/ the tadpole torching my stomach in the museum of the heartless alligator  

/ the spider the star in suicide’s eye

/ the crow in the devil’s  purse
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
surely the boy should have seen by now his father hit a man.  a girl walk in on a television.  a bite mark on a baseball.  a bug-eyed nurse.  a dog on two legs.  a god on four.  a scarecrow on a diving board.  himself as a baby.  the band-aid

my dream’s
blindfold.
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
it is allowed one diaper per ******-on anthill.  its mother gets everything on the first guess.  it only leaves its body to interrupt god.  it eats a stork.  you’re eating dove.
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
the newborn
yawns, reveals

god
to be
a biter  

-

I don’t
in my sleep
do anything

let alone
impressions

-

it’s hell on an image

the mirror’s
alibi
Lauren E Kraft Apr 2014
I started wearing a heart rate monitor
All the time
I got it originally to figure out my threshold on the bike
I haven’t gotten around to doing that yet
When I first put it on
I guess it hadn’t made proper contact
I looked down at the watch
It blipped a tiny radiating pulse like a submarine Doppler
Searching for a beat
My friend pulled my shirt up licked the sensor and stuck it back to the place just beneath my breast
I laughed
There it was

Now when I walk
I look at my wrist obsessively
**** Tracy waiting for a secret message

I am thirty now
And I worry, nightly; I will be too old too soon
To be a mother
I worry that I am a child

I interpreted an ultrasound
For a deaf person
A communication with the beyond
The doctor searched for the right spot
Made contact
And I heard the muffled, galloping sound
Of someone trying to survive underwater
I opened and closed my fist to show her the rhythm of a pulse

I have no god
And I don’t want one
But what I do want is a sign
That I am alright

Tonight I sit on top of a closed toilet and watch water fill the bath
The best part of the day
A reentry to the womb
Right before I get in
I remember myself
I unhook the monitor from my ribs
And get in
Submerged, I listen for the galloping
But hear only neighbors
Shifting furniture downstairs

When I’m done I can’t help the compulsion
To put it back on
And when I do I get the message
Jonny Angel Apr 2014
I want to walk
in deep space,
pull your tether
& play bumper cars
with you
under the stars
before the sun rises.

I want to engage in
manual manipulation
with you,
spin G's around the moon
& whistle rocket man tunes
while knocking your
sweet spacesuit boots.

I want to experience reentry
with you,
float on triple parachutes
& blast-off
again & again
onto your soft pad.
Owen Phillips Sep 2012
Coiled fingers grasping around through
a series of grates alternating through spatial relation
Each subsequent orientation,
Rotated at arbitrary command,
Ham-****** reverie, like the acceptance of Jesus as our personal savior
Colors their every artifice
As if the void that consented to multitudes
Were mutilated upon reentry
Like the volkswagon beetle
Made to upgrade on demands
Or the chemical makeup of fleas
That have buried themselves in the festering skin
On the half opened light bulb of
Apostasy. Hardships
won and their articles
signed, comprehension reversed
With demands to the populace
Each stating unthinkable wishes
Since they've steadily become
Eager in the belief that
Their souls were unstuck
As puppets left to decay on the rain drenched fair grounds

The things I'm avoiding when I stray from the river

Confiscated boss on your vaunted sky
Bring to us your design
Sing to us the reminders we know that will
Teach us to drive our demands to time
And influence the outcomes ourselves
Give us the power to carry them forward
And sharpen the strength of our mind
It's us that you're looking for now
[the manuscript was unreadable from this point on]
The invocation worked on 1 September 2012
NuurSeraph Oct 2014
My marginal dysfunctions like a panther saunter gliding me out to peripheries edge.
We won't comment on loose banter, someone says.
My mind circles the time as the crow flies,
too disturbed for reentry, tweets the parakeet.

Phase out with allegiance to no one,
Phase back in with desperate facade.
I am blank, bleak and broken.

Well...that's just the token to get us back in ...the Dahlia wasn't always black to begin with you know, so many colors remain to absorb our sorrow.

So lost, forgotten and frail...
a ghastly scene so serene and forsaken.
Do not fret my fellow faire, we are ghosts of crimson lore, pathos to the people...morose...together on the edge of forever.

Interlacing fingers, we stand then walk the plank of insanity...who will hold my hand??
The mind is a beautiful act of celebration...
Barton D Smock Jun 2016
before I got sick
there was a sound
my mother
could make
and a bird
perched
on the arm
of a snowman…

angels, yeah

some
grab their ears
when trapped
The Ripper Nov 2016
As a young boy I learned
that I had a black knack
it vvas passed on to me
from a vvoman who passed
Some days it feels
like a rabid curse
I don't need to knovv
before you shovv me first
at death I thought
I vvould have been
rethreaded
but upon reentry
I was still clairvoyant
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
I love fake things.  the tasered clown.  the sheep my young father remembers being sliced like bread.  the paper shredder that kept some animals from entering the time machine.  the baby in riot gear.  the other baby telling itself not to move.  the blood’s blood type.
palladia Jun 2014
Aphrodite of the Immortals
on magmatic throne aloft
ruse rummager God’s daughter
shield not my fury or pang of demur
my spirit’s empress eternal

desired goddess, appear
seal rank in the corps of my heart
from gilded kingdoms above
fling thyself to this tenebrous earth
atmospheric reentry – to me

jovial thy ****** bequeathed
known by heart, my splits and seams
my bedraped innocence and tears
to spill my trusty soul secure:
why is thy countenance amiss?
who has entranced thou in her arms?
whose caresses does thou shake?

venerated queen so valiant
dilate my love, dwindle my pain
free up my heart to love all embracive
comrade goddess, be mine
be thou, my ally
A modern day reworking of Sappho's glorious "Hymn to Aphrodite"
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
I was
for desperation
a woman
crawling away
from her walker.

I still, gender, have
your raincloud.

/ nothing whispered is a language.

the mouth chews on its ghost.
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
the sisters compare how many months they’ve stayed pregnant  

/ nearby,

a boy
believes
he’s guessed

from no more
than the image
of a swollen
fish

which alien
showed interest
in our
despair /  

(I am looking for a place to whip my brother that is not a bathroom)

/ my father
he is waiting
for the price
to come down
on a thing
he says
will prove

theft
has no mother
and forgiveness
no god / as a dentist  

dreams
it’s all
in the legs
Barton D Smock Jun 2016
/ you can work here for nine months

/ it’s not like riding a bike
it’s more
like kneeling
in the center
of a stickman’s
nightmare

/ never you mind
the bloated
baby’s
yellow
tooth

/ at least the sick

they confuse
death
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
it’s my turn with the body

/ I was thinking church
but meant
museum

/ brother is horrified

/ he’s made
this face
before

/ I was saying
in the oven
of the observable
crow
this hologram
is the butcher’s
pajamas

/ I was thinking
fork
that’s not
how telepathy
works
Barton D Smock Jul 2016
with a sock in its mouth

suicide
the birthday
ghost

/ having heard
of the shadow
animal’s
ear
for the hand
puppet’s
collapse /

passes through
a wall
into a room
where a balloon
eating out
a prophet
stops not

to hiss
Barton D Smock Aug 2016
at a costume party thrown by starvation

kissing the baby of the creature
that taught
Judas
Barton D Smock Jun 2016
night terror, the handwriting
of imago’s
child…

/ resurrection, a memoir
Adam Mott Jan 2016
I burnt up on reentry
Circle diamonds, raining from my hands
Candied memories kept up with me lethargically
Sunburnt from too many feelings

I seem to see into the past
Must be these radio teleplays I hear when I fly
Foggy and fast
Falling is a more accurate term

Piano and guitar with which I rehearse
Leaning off the coast with a bottle of Crown Apple
Just peeking into states and times
With my ever solid monologues
And fondness for your hair
Hahahahahaha, indeed
Onoma Jan 2020
there's no need for

a ***** to play surrogate

mother.

while threading along

a string of reentry.
Barton D Smock Jun 2016
/ the hands and the crushed mind they crawl from

/ god of the briefly ugly

/ the homeless child of nostalgia’s native

/ graveyard
our game
of telephone

— The End —