"rulebook" poems
How dare you feed your shadow and bind your rulebook with the cells of my brain, the tissue of my heart and the calories of my existence.
How dare you tear down my home. How dare you throw away the cushions of my stomach, tear down the curtains of my hair, destroy the pillars of my legs. Until all that was left was the cold brick. an empty house. A hollow heart, a bedridden passion for life.
You ate my muted screams and my broken dreams. Slower, no slower, chew slower. Don’t eat too quick. Weigh that, no! Weigh it again, the scales could be wrong so round it up, log it, 200 left for dinner. Please just let me eat, please give me peace.
Dog-earing her rulebook and breaking its osteoporotic spine. Feeding my life, furnishing my home.
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 12:08 PM UTC
I see the space station passing over, and I wave, and think about all the silent machines above me. Orbit is a controlled fall – I remember that. An endless downwards hurtle, but with just enough forward momentum to keep from hitting the ground. Freefall. I think about satellites, and how this barely controlled freefall is the only way that they can fulfill their purpose. I think some people are like satellites: we also live out our lives in freefall.
Satellite people, that’s us. We’re the ones who always say the wrong thing to the wrong person, or the right person at the wrong time. We didn’t get the Rulebook for Human Interaction that the others got given at birth, or soon after. Or if we did, we never read it – discipline was never our strong point.
People in freefall Get It Wrong, often. We’re good at self-justification, and we tell ourselves that she doesn’t really love him, that our unhappy childhoods are to blame, that our badness makes us interesting. We never got the hang of sensible, grown-up love - our bodies shake, our souls twist and burn inside our limbs, and we open our big mouths, and the only thing we can keep down is Jim Beam and dry toast, because we don’t know if it’s all going to be OK, now we’ve spoken. In all probability, we’re never going to know.
We live our whole lives in freefall, people like us, but with just enough forward momentum to keep us alive. And we are alive – ****** and embarrassed and scared, but alive. It’s when we feel nothing, that’s when people like us hit the ground.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Why am I no longer impressed by my invention?
It's only a facade...I know,
But it cuts deeper as the lies grow,
A lover,
A victim,
A villain,
A saint,
A queer,
A god,
I've been all I wanted to be,
Yet I never truly achieved this state,
Time to put down the rulebook,
Give up the dire life and find a new invention,
A reality that's all me.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 2:53 PM UTC
Oh dear
Oh dear
I've happened upon a queer
I don't quite know
how this should go
luckily I have my rulebook here
Morality for Fools
tells me homosexuality is a sin
Now I'm allowed
To yell it out loud
and tell him how naughty he's been
Oh dear
Oh dear
My neighbor's wife is licking my ear
Oh what should I do?
What happens next?
Lucky I keep the rulebook on top of my desk
Morality for fools
tells me that adultery is wrong
so I ask her to leave
and she seems a bit peeved
as she was itching to get out of that thong
I'll be the first to confess
It's sometimes a mess
to keep it all straight in my head
You see, I have no morality of my own
so I use the book's instead
It's perfectly fine
and I really don't mind
It's so much simpler this way
I'd rather be told what to do in my life
than make my own choices all day
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
I want to write about *******
I want to write about everything I’ve
ever been forbidden
from thinking—I want to ****
everyone, I want to be everyone.
I want to lick up the salt
of your sweat, and bite the supple skin
of your beautiful neck,
and I don’t give a ****
who the ‘you’ is in question.
‘You’ can be anybody, any soul
throbbing with the grit of
humanity, who’ll rip their decency
wide open and stand naked and
unrestrained by the starched collared
shirts of everything that civilization
has taught you about how
people should be.
I want to write
about something that terrifies me, and paint
it in permanent ink across my chest.
I don’t want to find clothes that fit, and ****
finding a moral tailor,
I want to be naked and free and feel the wind
sting my winter-chapped lips and
whip my hair against my face,
and I’ll burn every metaphorical rulebook
containing anything I’ve ever believed
while dancing around the fire.
And I realize this poem (if
you can call it a poem)
doesn’t make any *******
sense, but neither
do you and neither do I.
We’re all confused and ***** and tragically
beautiful little ******** creatures crawling
this earth knowing only
our ridiculous little ******** lives.
And I can’t really tell you anything
you should always take seriously, because
one day you’ll die and **** yourself afterward, and
so will everyone who ever knew you—so you might as well
not care about being naked because we’re all pretty ******* ridiculous
running around in suits we’ve purposely designed
to never fit.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
Instructions for Life-Lesson 1
How to be Awesome daily.
Step 1: Wake up each morning and say “I’m Awesome!”
Step 2: Go to closest mirror and visually confirm Awesomeness. (It’s there-trust me)
Step 3: Continue on with the rest of your day…being totally Awesome!
If followed regularly, these simple steps can change the one thing that differentiates the Awesome from the Non-Awesome, and that is belief in self.
Now get out there and have an Awesome day!
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
*from now on,
all poems will,
that yet reside inside,
shall be here inscribed
why?
the line between music, song, lustrous life and love is indifferent
do not misunderstand - indifferent is not meant as uncaring but more as undifferentiated and interwoven into a singularly
so oft lives de-track, de-tract as threads become frayed and
the dye color fades, but once loved, cold is an excised word
from life’s Merriam Webster rulebook
in all my pain and sadness the embrued, embered kernel
yet faint glows
off and on, even a glance somehow brings it back, for of all
life’s lessons learned in everything, loss and grief,
the single thread snakes back, and there is love in everything
and in every unborn scream and script
so a journey ends and commences
in the same locus and locale,
the quest;
search and seek that love seed*
for there is only love poetry
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
I'm a freak.
A ******
That's what I'm known as.
Or I could just be different.
Who said your favourite colour had to be pink to be cool?
Who made this rulebook?
So what if I prefer combat boots to stilettos?
What if I want to be different?
I am me.
Just. Me.
And if you don't like it, you can ignore it!
And, newsflash: You don't have to like me. I'm not a facebook status!
Because you know what?
I tried being normal.
But it got boring.
So I went back to being myself.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 8:12 AM UTC
The 'like it' button is on another page
value myself on what others say
weeks of thoughts processed quickly today
to type up and not get left behind creatively
My shell and my shadow sit together to pray
hoping for the world to stop pushing the race
where i look like I'm failing again
but really my aim is to not even play.
The rulebook is on fire in my living room
all I feel is a creeping doom
how many hearts, clicks and jumps will i deserve
when i get to grips with the daily churn.
He breathes heavily down your neck
She stares cunningly at your gestures
They change your invisible intentions
To manipulate your inner perceptions
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
How is it possible,
That man can heal the sick
With a touch of his holy palm?
That he can still feel pain of bricks,
Stones and pebbles, despite his charm?
How can the truth be told
When the concept is hard to believe?
Stories of strangers bearing frankincense, myrrh and gold,
For a child born from a ****** it’s hard to achieve.
It sparks fires, it unknowingly kills.
A story, so harmless to begin.
Now it’s violent, aggressive and brings new kinds of thrills.
A story, now a rulebook to escape from sin.
Man’s greatest influence –
It’s crystal clear to see –
Also intends to be
Man’s greatest enemy.
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:00 AM UTC
It’s not a weight on our shoulders
Or an anchor, heavy on our feet
Not a ****** victory over others
Nor a weakened or beaten defeat
It’s not a maze of constant worries
Or an indecipherable scribble in our minds
Not a rulebook for our partners to follow
Nor a road full of stop signs
It’s not a game of lust and cheats
Or one image meant for all
Not a series of conditions ‘Only if…’
Nor split, withheld, or bought
It’s not sadness, tears or heartbreak
Or using one another for gains
Not ridiculous expectations to be forced on us
Nor emotions to be smothered or chained
It’s as natural as the breath we take
To give it out is simple and plain
It emanates from all our souls within
A light within us always untamed
Take a moment to truly find it now
Be still, be calm, be true
For when you do you’ll realise how easy
Unconditional love is within you
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
The man who put bullet holes in the fabric of time waiting for you
Who scrawled lunacy all over the pages of history
Who started all the wars, murdered all the prophets, burned down empires
Who laughed “Apocalypse” at a billion futures
But let every opportunity slide by
The man who wrote your name on all the maps for hope of finding you
Who dammed up the rivers he had made so you wouldn’t see his tears
Who peered between saplings in forests he had planted to see if you were hiding there
Who sat by fires in newly opened taverns, telling tales of his search for you
But didn’t cross the road to knock on your door
The man who locked you in a tower to be the princess in his fairytales
Who cast himself as the dragon guarding you forever
Who lived off a diet of slow roasted questing knights, tall handsome features charred at the edges
Who antagonised himself in the kingdom of his own story
But never looked through the window to tell you why
The man who wrote his rulebook with the blood of his closest friends
Who proudly swore never to break Number One
Who even wrote a riddle to protect it from your words
Who drove himself insane with all the times that he stuck to it
But never realised it kept you from him
The man who made himself a crown of thorns from the dozen red roses he tried to send you
Who crucified himself with dreams of you
The man who was content to write you a love poem
But couldn’t tell you he loved you in person
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
when i was young, all i wanted
was to work in record shop,
i involved the nick hornby *high
fidelity* bug / virus and i was all set,
but them the music game changed,
it wasn't tagged as -sony, ******
or some other record company...
but entitled self-,
see the hyphen is historical residue
awareness... but there are a few music
outlets open, the h.m.v. on oxford street,
or the one at romford,
the ****** mega-store where classical
music was caged behind soundproof glass
doors is gone... i guess the owner of the h.m.v.
is a benevolent billionaire philanthropist...
we all know richie branson sent all the artists
to hell and actors to the stratosphere
with income from tubular bells by mike oldfield...
i get that... but what you miss with instant access
is the randomness of waling into a vinyl / sly mercury
(c.d. it has to be more than compact disk,
it has to have a status of a vinyl, it can't remain
an acronym... vinyl.... and... mercury, cosine it's
silver, the end, 80's rule, or rulebook,
brick sized mobile phones, it's part of history,
you ******* tartan yuppies),
well, as divergent as a tangent can be,
all i ever wanted was to imitate the high fidelity
case presented in fictional medium by nick hornby,
never got the chance, did work experience at
Burtons (a clothes outlet), even though
i wanted to sell music... the hamster napster beat me
on the treadmill... never got the fairytale godmother
to wish-blink wish-blink magic pogo stick makeover;
but h.m.v. is still open, and went in and played
the lottery genie, i got https://goo.gl/KdB7oY:
why do you why do you why do you voodoo?
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
When my eyes open in the morning, my brain eventually catches up to do the same. It just needs a little kick; Intravenous caffeine directly into it. My engine finally turns over, and I’m a little rusty at first.Pushing through sluggish build up, I backfire like an old lawn mower. Can’t think straight, I’m still distorted. Need WD-40. Lubricate my gears, with a nice hot shower. I’m relaxed and clear, I can start my day; At least a little better now I can say.
Thought process is free spirited, roaming the halls of my mind aimlessly. No rulebook to be followed but the laws of nature; like lighting. It strikes, so fast and frightening. My thoughts. They tamper with the Richter scale of anxiety within me, and a tidal wave approaches to swallow me after the quake. I can feel its presence, when it’s on the verge; Emitting a surge every time my heart beats. Scurrying its way through the crevasses of my brain, it taints the walls of grey matter with a tendency for unpredictability. Impulse; is out of my reach.
Brace for impact, emotional roller coaster is soon to crash. If I don’t grab a hold of this lap bar, I will lose my sanity. Too late, I’m falling—I pull my rip chord. My mind opens its parachute, choosing not to ignore; all of the objective. My chord is perspective, that rips out subject, thoughts that cloud my mind.
Emotions are like oceans that brew thoughts with explosions, through your veins. They are the fuel for our senses, like caffeine for my brain. I can’t explain, but it reminds you you’re alive. It can feel like insanity, but don’t let that die. Embrace insanity, it’s the spark of madness you need. As far as I see, it's inevitable.
When the inevitable is feared, and you fight to keep it away; You will no longer be insane, but will have completely lost it.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Lymeria
Part II
You must think in this way,
And shall think only truth.
You cannot dream at all,
If the Lord has not called.
You must warm by the fires,
And follow our will!
For if you learn to doubt,
You will not see the hills.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
liberalism rots my brain and breaks my heart
emotions are cast as a lack of objectivity needing to be overcome and cut out.
emotions are not insight they are impediment.
a threat to someone’s wellbeing and dignity is cast as a difference of opinion, that we can agree to disagree that there is no target on your back.
while you are walking up hill into the wind with your possessions rolling down the bank, the world is warped into a frame, call it a “level playing field”
as if an elite group doesn’t own and run the pitch, profit from the rent, write the rulebook and hire the referees.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
According to this book
You can't throw knives as a Girl Scout individual
However, the book neglects to mention
Uranium, cadavers, and cult rituals
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
Leftover from the time when
Shards of glass buried within
Amounting to a stretch of time
Where the heart is made to lie thin
A torn visage of regular men
Cool and collected
Shaken and anxious
Both describe a man
Wedge between lives
Broken, again and again
Remedies come and remedies go
Changing hair and clothes
Learning from each meeting
Losing a shard of that fear
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Let me be the youngest
and say
somehow
we went astray
but there is no rulebook
that says
we have to stay
this way.
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 11:17 PM UTC
What qualities make a ‘successful man’,
Is it the tambor of his voice,
Some lofty goals, a lifelong plan,
A steering hand, his knowing choice.
Can compassion play a part
Or is that interpreted as meekness;
Is it wrong to show a heart
Without labeling it as weakness?
Does strength need to be paraded
A steely front for all to see,
Is authority degraded
When others sometime don't agree?
An old proverb said as much:
"A wise man is one who listens"
Few have had the Midas touch
And those that did have breached divisions.
Three traits renown - the deadly cluster,
The very ones to spell out doom,
Bravado, Braggadocio and sheer Bluster,
For all they bring is downright gloom.
So where's the rulebook, that golden fleece
To show the way and light the path,
That font of knowledge and inner peace,
Assured success without the wrath?
Where it exists is inner strength,
A willingness to learn whilst teaching too,
Consistency and grace to any length,
Embracing all of us, not simply you.
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 10:42 AM UTC
Delayed reaction
Bitterweet one-note transaction
Turn a blind eye
Voice it in a lie
From compulsive catalogs
Gift-wrapped by mythomaniac hands
Mixing false theories
With hour-glass sands
Because everyone can
And everyone will
Believe the scientific rulebook
And how the high heavens, they shook
So long as it looks pretty
And speaks in a foreign accent
Join hands in singing the praises
Calculating our own descent
Passively uninvolved?
Problem solved...
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 6:03 PM UTC
When I first learned
that Trump was
running for President
I thought it was a joke.
Then I saw the irony
and knew for sure.
Nothing was ever going to change
no matter who was Head of State.
Nothing changes and nothing will ever change,
unless we throw away the rulebook...
and **** the rich.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
Who decided it was crazy,
To capture yourself in a poem?
I must have missed that part,
When I read the rulebook you wrote.
The fact is I am a defacto poet,
So when I write poems that you read,
Don't slander me like you could do it better.
So hold your tongue,
Till it's your poem you read with it.
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 10:19 PM UTC
Somehow you always change.
You grow up.
You find out that the bad guys don’t have horns or claws.
They look normal.
They act normal.
Until the one day that they don’t.
And it’s almost like a disappointment.
You expected the world to be so clearly cut
But there is no bigger picture.
There is no rulebook
or plan
Only what’s in front of you
the world is big and scary
and awful
and
wonderful
Somehow you always change
I guess it’s called growing up.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
It was like they played by a different rulebook
The same board but different games
We were playing checkers
In a world of chess
Where we were from
Everyone mattered
Every piece was the same
Equally important
Equally capable
But they turned this land into a battlefield
Where the king hid in his fortress
Behind a moat of humans
Same board
Different moves
Classified pieces
Licenced with allowances
Monsters made of power
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC