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Yesterday was your birthday

All day, my hands weighed me down

With the itch to text you to wish you a good day
With the need to grip a steering wheel, navigating me to your house
With the idleness feeling sinful as I wasn’t baking you confetti cake
With the feeling of being misplaced against anything that wasn’t your skin

To keep my hands busy I piled memory into a grinder
And
Ground
Ground
Ground

Turned the parts as if I was winding up a music box
Because this sound was full
In comparison to
The pit of my stomach that was still waiting to
Share your birthday cupcakes with you

When the flashbacks filtered into my brain
The high was pulled lower still
By the weight of my hands
So that all I could do was cross them
And pray a prayer worth all of the birthday gifts I’ve ever given

“Please, God, on this day make him forget himself.

Please, God, let him find a sweet tooth for things other than the melancholic poison he puts in his coffee

Please, God, let him not remember the time when he broke open too wide and let me slip out of him

Please, God, allow him to feel something, on this birthday, even if it’s just his birthday candle blisters

Please, God, give him his heart back, as it is buried in the past that I was never gifted to know

Please, God, let me not weigh him down with a guilt seed that would root him to a chapter in his life that he wishes he could rewrite

Please, God, let me stop dreaming of him.
I know what it means when I dream of someone.
I know it’s your way of wordlessly telling me I’m being thought of.
Do not let him think of me.


Please, God, fill the parts of him that his worker’s hands have carved out of himself so cleanly.

Visit the wounds that sit in his posture
Will his veins to carry his soul back to his heart

Remind him that his sadness is his own special brew
That he continues to sip at his leisure

Help him understand that feeling lonely
Comes from his own brain that remembers isolation better than love

Please, God, give him
A better year.
A good year.
A year when his time won’t be stolen by someone so insignificant
That he has to translate her words into the language of gibberish,
Until they mean nothing at all anymore.

Please, let him find someone.
Please, let that person captivate him.
Please, let that person know him.
Please, let that person sit in bed with him and feel their good fortune in their bones.
Please, let that person see the moon in his fingertips and realize that they can control the tides, if he wants them too.
Please, let him smile at this person, in ways that would be ugly in pictures, but beautiful in my memory.

Please, God, let that person be HIM.

Please, God, if you won’t cut the ribbon to the start of his new life, at least give him the scissors.

He will say “No, Thank you.”
He will say he does not need your help, because he knows the power of his paint brush,
and that he is too busy washing color out of his brushes to take hold of the harsh metal,
And then he will make confetti of your offer.
He will shred every pleasant thought that comes his way.
He will cut himself open and gaze at every beautiful thing, insisting he sees the wonder.
He will not see the wonder.
He will say he understands the things that live inside himself.
But he will turn their volume down
And tune deeply into the metallic music of sorrowful hollowness
He will go to extreme efforts to ignore the starting line that sits just outside of his comfort zone.

But, God, Please,
Send the trees to trip him
Make the animals chase him
Let him
Throw tantrums that are disguised as the silent treatment

But wrap him up in his ribbon, so that the only way he can move
Is forward.
Remind him that the scissors are always in his hand,
And he needs to learn that
They need not destroy.

Make the clouds rain on his new life,
And remind him that he has a knack for watercolors.

Lure him with oils
Guide him with spraypaint

This Year, show him the paint that
Will reteach color to him.

This year, let him understand that colors are bright,
But not the enemy.

Let him not fear red from the times that he bled,
Let him not cast away yellow, because the sun got in his eyes,
Let him not hate blue, because he almost drowned.

Build in him a reservoir for happiness, that could sustain him through this life that has already been too tragic.

God, on his birthday, please indulge these heavy hands so that they may not cross the fingers for his return,

Because God, it was not I who was born today,
And it was not me who was stiffed on birthday cake.

And though this prayer is selfish,
It is the only thing I can give him,
That he cannot refuse.”

And as I looked down to see my clasped hands, I couldn’t help remember
When one of them was yours.

And for my final birthday wish to you ,
I hoped that only your sleep
Could be relieved of the white knuckle tensions of restlessness

So that you may sleep, and know the peace that I felt,
When I slept next to you.



Happy Birthday,
I miss you.
Happy Birthday,
I’m sorry.
Happy Birthday,
This is selfish,
But Happy Birthday,
So were you.
I wrote this one a while ago, but have finally redrafted it enough to where I'm happy with it.
Shadow Wolf Feb 2014
The first and last death you'll ever receive
and the last breath you'll ever breathe
comes before and after you.

I've turned into the creature
you thought was a myth
now you're paralyzed, I've made you stiffed.

I am the pure born Shadow Wolf
that lurks day and night
ripping your throat out
what a painful frightening sight.

Close your eyes
say good night
pray in death
to go to the..
light
TR3F1LD Mar 30
this one's just an assemblage of diverse
thoughts turned I̲nto a rhymed verse
no stories (alack), like a triple-decker
turned into a roofless single-decker
["no storeys"]
best intro ever
————————————————————————————————
in mY̲ op, lyric writing is
["in my opinion"]
a type of exercising, which
along with different lyrical tricks
rap is familiar for, e[ɪ]x—
["miliar" in "familiar" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "mil ya"]
—plains why some lyrically addicted perceive
lyric writing as sport
like a gym, cO̲[ɑ]ntent has weight
but it's, bY̲ & large, curb
appeal I get fixed on, jU̲st like Max Payne (a pill)
[Max Payne is a painkiller addict]
a kind of perfectionistical stiff
who's, lyrics-wise, a fiend for technique (technique)
so, while writing lyrics, the lead
thing is rhymes, so rhyme schE̲mes must be lit (must be lit)
just like an individual with
dope delivered I̲nto the syst.
["addicted"; "a pill [appeal]"; "a fiend"; "lit"; "dope"]
[all 5 words constitute a narcotic context]
[I have no intention to glorify dope or its consumption]
in a way, rhyme's a mag—ic of syllables, which
is something that should be given good heed
like a psychopath who can easily flip
speaking of which
you want to bet whether I wI̲nd up cast
inside a go[ɑ]ddamn mad—house? inasmuch as at
["Gotham"]
times it seems I'm becoming bats (slowly)
like the Gotham order up—holder
but some lines are, by all odds, compO̲sed by, um, joker
[the Batman, who's called "Bats" by his archfoe Joker]
like somebO̲dy feeling the need
of having fun, it's a Harley Quinn you should seek
["harlequin"]
or, at least, a ******* shrink, but you keep
[Harleen Quinzel was, before falling in love with her patient Joker]
[a psychologist, which is a type of mental health specialist]
[also called by the umbrella term "shrink"]
being that dog in the mid of a lit
room like "this is fine" (not really)
this wicked mind's deprived of peace like a leak-
-taker recently finished the leak (stupid)
["****"]
how violent & vindictive it ge[ɪ]ts
sometimes, esp. when my sh#t's getting writ
guess I'm seen, like a piece of a flick
["scene"]
as a somewhat despicable *****
with all the indecency & hostility writ (like Shady)
but if there's sO̲meone willing to b#tch
about that, such type of people should twig
something: an obnoxious lyricist, which
is what I chiefly am, is by far smaller evil in this
******* world next to ones who really commit
those or other villainous deeds (smaller evil)
[everything is relative]
moral nazis, like a stripper, should ge[ɪ]t
started from the top, i.e. corrupted pieces of sh#t
upholding **** systems that ge[ɪ]t
dissidents imprisoned, or victimized in prisons, or stiffed (**** systems)
["stiffed" in the sense of "killed"]
what I do may be seen as lyrical e[ɪ]x—
["sin"]
—tremism 'cause when I fi̲ll up a sheet
for bars, I, like a jihadi mad dog, gE̲[ɪ]t off the leash
["smaller evil"; "villainous deeds"; "stripper"; "corrupted"]
["**** systems"; "victimized in prisons"; "stiffed"; "jihadi mad dog"]
[all those constitute a sin-related context]
but I'm a bored hundido that's leashed (hundido that's leashed)
bark like crazy with lines of texts I indite
that's what the reallity makes me feel like
autocracies' po[ɑ]litics make ill will rise (rise)
yeah, diving into music or some on-screen type
of entertainment can help an ill mind
to feel fine (somewhat), but that's just a ****-time (**** time)
almost nothing vis-a-vis a thrill ride
guess we all need some real high
as if we've climbed atop a prodigious cliff, right? (real high)
yeah, with this pretty skilled mind (lyrics-wise)
["pretty" in the sense of "somewhat", not "very"]
I'm like a demi-go[ɑ]d when I rhyme
A̲[ɑ]lthough sometimes
I feel so worthless & **[ɑ]llow, just like
words of someO̲ne full of lies, so wonder not why
I want to have some power sometimes
not the one of a ty—**** or a high-qualified
gunfighter backed by an army of private sublime
gunfighters; but if I̲ had such might
[on the second thought, who the hell would mind having it?]
[and that's the main humankind problem]
[given that humans seem to be highly evolved animals]
to utili̲ze, I'd not try to become the tyrant-like type
[the "lize, I'd" part is supposed to be read/pronounced as "luyzad"]
of ruler (no); it's said justice is blind
but I'm vigilante-like in my mind (vigilante-like)
so the justice of mine is more like an eye for an eye
evil must be punished, I side
with Rorschach, A̲[ɑ]lthough, as I
mentioned in one of my lines, in mY̲ judgement, vice
to apply is alright when you fight
["going against baddies with vice"]
against greater evil; I give nO̲[ɑ]t a ****, like
a dental clinic with a budget unhigh
["dam"]
if somebO̲[ɑ]dy upright's not fine with what I'm
about to say, but, po[ɑ]litics-wise, my mind's satisfied
when a power-corrupted sheisser'***** by
a ****** dO̲wnfall & I
know 'bout it, whether it's a confinement behind
bars or a violent demise (or something else unfortunate)
depending on crimes realized (crimes)
by them; all the ******-handed tyrants are quite
deserving of sU̲ch things, besides
their cold-hearted sidekicks in crime (cold-hearted)
I don't encourage violence, but my
vote goes for a tsar genocide (tsar genocide)
yeah, you barely get penalized in real life
(which is such a shame)
but, like a machine for grinding wood, I've
got you pulverized in my lines
————————————————————————————————
oh, &, in view of the higher writ lines
there's the final thing I'd
like to mention: ***** auto[ɑ]cracy, like
it's a female tyrant to swive (ha-ha)
[no offense toward women intended, I'm just an entertainer with a wicked mind]
"lesser evil" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
K Balachandran Apr 2017
1.This wheelchair never was a River,
even when powered, it did splutter
yes, it's equivalent in movements,
listening silently it always sits out,
away from the flow to the ecstatic sea.
A wheel chair is a caricature of loneliness.

2.Ever tried to see it for what it really is?
"We don't remember, doesn't catches the eye"
Not like a chair of any other kind easily does,
A chair regal looks up, straight at the face
in the manner it demands what it wants,
"Let me tell you this, listen or leave"

3.A wheel chair keeps on looking at it's
arrested feet apologetically and sighs,
if you have an inner ear sensitive, hear this,
I am not even a chair, an apology
for movement,spoken in a voice stiffed.
It speaks incessantly, in a voice within itself,
wordless to a world, that has closed it's doors.

4.A wheelchair easily forgets things as
it can't keep bitterness alive always.
who cares to speak a few words to a wheelchair?
all it is to be done is push it in silence through aisles .
from a destination of pain to any other, slightly higher.
Stairs of every kind, for a wheelchair is a foreign land.

5.Yet in impeded wheelchairs moves many a dream,
broken before their time or crusted with force.
Or remains of a day, too long and  busily spent.
On every wheelchair a heart adamantly beats,
"I would, I would" it beats with a rare grit.
Dedicated to all differently abled people whose dream each one of us has to help fulfill..
at istanbul the line is swift
faces are warm the world is here
we have the journey as our gift

all landed safe none cast adrift
no crisis left to engineer
at istanbul the line is swift

we're moved along all hearts must lift
as each direction comes out clear
we have the journey as our gift

no simple one so for our thrift
we've been repaid and very dear
at istanbul the line is swift

but none can say that they've been stiffed
as cost of entry will appear
we have the journey as our gift

though we come far and have to sift
through memories made everywhere
at istanbul the line is swift
we have the journey as our gift
I remember when I first met her
it was like love at first sight
and I thought god I'd take her, even marry her
that was my first love sweet Claire
she was so ******* gorgeous

She was young, pretty and perfect
and goodness, I was swept off my feet
I did love her and adore her
but my life was young and stupid
and yes mistakenly stiffed her emotionally

Such a rose was she
but it was never to be
I loved her as my first love
and jealously I did covet her
I even gave her one of my stars Rea

Oh foolish fool most profound was I
I used to beat myself around
such a sweet woman
a woman I should of enjoyed
rather treating her like a toy

I want to make amends
for forgiveness is my end
as I left her high and dry
in those dark nights after leaving, I'd cry
and once or twice tried suicide


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Bob B Jan 2019
(Can be sung to the melody of Frank Sinatra's "My Way")

For TWO years now I've been
The mighty leader of this nation,
But I can't stand it when
I don’t receive great adoration.

Believe me when I say
My way's the ALWAYS-best-to-lie way.
And you can do it too
By doing things my way.

Mueller is going strong.
I am sick of his **** query.
But they've all got it wrong.
They can't prove their stupid theory.

My fans KNOW my style is NOT
A JUST-lay-down-and-die way.
I have gotten by
By doing things my way.

My tryst with Stormy and my fling
With that McDougal woman bring
So much grief into my life,
Especially with my wife.
But, nonetheless, I will confess
I love things my way.

And now I want my wall;
If I don't get it some will suffer.
I will shut things down
Just to show I'm not a bluffer.

You can dupe the world
With simply the "M" "Y" way.
So I will not deny
I love things MY way.

I've had to fire more than a few
'Cause they say things that are untrue.
And my toadies on the Hill
All bow down; they know the drill.
They know the ways to get my praise:
Just do things my way.

Yes, do things my way.

-by Bob B (1-16-19)


2017 and 2018 VERSIONS:

DOING THINGS MY WAY (1):
(THE INAUGURATION SONG)

(Can be sung to the melody of Frank Sinatra's "My Way")

And so, I'm standing here
To say an oath and pledge allegiance.
Though some will cry and jeer
And accuse me of malfeasance,

The fact that I can stand
Before you now in a tough-guy way
Proves that you can play it through
By doing things my way.

Yes, I've stiffed a few,
But that's my disposition.
That's what you have to do
To carry forth your mission.

I knew what I was doing;
I was acting in a sly way.
Just do what I tell you
And do things my way.

You might not like the things I say
Or what I do, but that's okay.
Celebs like me all have it made.
Just don't drop the masquerade.
It's all the same; just play the game
And do things my way.

I've had three wives. So what!
I've had just two divorces.
The news? Don't watch that ****.
I have found better sources.

I didn't get this far
By choosing the just-get-by way.
Since life is dog eat dog
Just do things my way.

You'll always find someone to cheat.
Remember: don't admit defeat.
There's nothing wrong with being rude.
At times be crass; at times be lewd.
Make up the rules; treat them like fools
By doing things my way.

Yes, do things my way.

(1-19-17) By Bob B


DOING THINGS MY WAY (2)
(SEVENTEEN MONTHS AFTER THE INAUGURATION)

(Can be sung to the melody of Frank Sinatra's "My Way")

Despite all that you hear,
I'm doing great; I'm number one now.
My made-up "truths" endear
Me to my base; we're having fun now.

My ranting and my raving
Show that mine's not the small fry way.
You'll win…you'll win much more
By doing things my way.

I wish the FBI
Would stop investigating.
They know too much. That's why
It is all so aggravating.

I never liked a wuss
Who would take the humble pie way.
No, I am much more ruthless
Doing things my way.

I've told some lies, once in a while…
Well, every day, but that's my style.
My Congress *****, have got my back.
At the right time we'll attack.
I plot and scheme for my regime
By doing things my way.

Putin's my friend, oh,
And Kim Jong Un and I are buddies.
Merkel and Trudeau?
My goodness, they're such fuddy-duddies.

All I have to do
Is just display my evil eye way,
And I'll get what I want
'Cause it is my way.

I am the law; that's plain to see.
And very few are smart like me.
I will say what comes to mind,
And I don't care if it's unkind.
A little greed helps you succeed
When doing things my way.

Yes, do things my way.

-by Bob B (6-26-18)
C N Kumar Mar 2014
You,
Add as an ornament me,
I often be ashamed that.

Because,
Yours levities are
About me only
Bear a burden you
Don’t know my deep affection.


At your shadow war
Use as weapon me,
And my nearness
Make as precaution you.
In the flow of season
Me and you
Twist in two way.
You as in
And I also out.
Thus we are
Become goddess and slave.

Now,
I am deduct my life
Wear out olden memories
In this stepping stone.
And you; brooding
In golden veil of dreams
No blossom at anytime
On your dreams
Don’t get my thoughts
And journey words.

At the village ways
In soften silence
Small ants getting
For worship
They are coming
With a row
And roosting
My wet chest
I like it
Because,
They wish
Friendship with me

Am I become whose saviour?
Answer of this question is
Now my research topic
In this evening
Remove you my friendship.
When you re wear it?
Until then,
In freezes dew
Like cursed stone
Me alone
Trembled
Stiffed......
========== C N Kumar.
Brycical Jan 2015
In the beginning there was the word
and the word eventually volved into millions
and now we talk with flagrant disregard
meanings are lost in definitions
and we no longer honor the words
that have brought us this far.
Well today that stops as I invite all
to honoring the 8 sacred words.

These are the words groked after birth
inherently transparently giving us our worth,
these words are why we are here on this earth;
Feel, Dream, Creation, Faith, Learning, Light, Being and Love.

  (1)
Feel
The real deal, the one that dictates what you perceive as real, a double entendre for the body and mind, covers the basic five and the infinite emotional responses. Such nuances to each like how the olfactory assists with memory like that time I was makin' golden fluff pancakes and hominy with my Aunt and Uncle getting ready for  Sunday School at a grueling five in the morning.
I still remember mourning Grandma Ruth at my first funeral.
Certain feelings are hard, if not impossible to explain, like when a painting or movie moves you to tears, I still get choked up watching Jimmy Stewart in Harvey.
But still I remember the feeling when this girl ran some ice down my spine for the first time. Now imagine being blind-folded as the cold slowly melts and the drips trickle down and the only sound you hear is her breathing and your heartbeat as she monotonously drags the chill down Yeah, I know you feel me on that one now.
That's the power Feeling can bring about
touching our most primal basic instincts to the intricate emotions someone brings upon your being when they sing that song that gets you every time.  

(2)
Dream
A powerful word. They can change people and things, just ask one Dr. Martin Luther King.  

   (3)
Creation
Regardless if it's the idea for the Iphone or baby makin, all life originates at creation.
It's why all are god,
why we all got this reason to be
like a painter paints his wrinkled heart on the canvas,
why a poet like me let's words flow out like a dam that's broken.
Creation births ideas and people with vision, we’re all born with this fingertip power
and a joyous vibe in our voice
the brain overrides by the sacred eyes locked grinding oneness
paper to pen, fingers to guitar, man to woman
all ringing out in a deafening bliss entering this world!
Creation breeds change , ideas that shaped the way we do things
like the first aeroplane and those folks who birthed those to think of said thing.
The brain keeps spinning like the invention of the wheel,
keep thinking and dreaming cause creation is a sacred duty to continue evolving.  

(4)
Faith
Such a muddied word these days, but faith is where all beliefs originate.
I bet you believe you’ll wake up tomorrow after a goodnight’s sleep.
Even that is faith.
The fires of faith forge burning trust when hands shake
Faith is smithed to wave, but never break
And it’s hilt of hope marries the mind to the heart
Faith is NOT a shield to keep other beliefs at bay or people apart
it is inherently a bond of understanding
and accepting from all parts of one self and others through heaven or hell.

(5)
Learning
There's nothing more sacred than learning, be it about the world or yourself.
A momentary divine buzz as synapses join in realization.
Not everyone can be educated but everyone can certainly learn.

My Uncle used to say he learned something new every day, and I think that's the way it should be,
cause you don't stop learning once they hand that paper to you for graduating school, life is a classroom and we are all the teachers and students but the answers aren't simply in external digital books and slides
a lot of the answers of life can be found inside the classroom of your mind.
If I didn’t look inside I would have never realized my inability to take compliments was technically flat out rejecting kindness someone as tryin to bestow upon me.

Forgive my diatribe but I have a hard time around closed minds cause the brain's a gold mind and info is a much more powerful currency than those political carnies shuffling greenbacks under the coconut.

(6)
Light
A special, sacred word illuminating the world's mind and yours,
forget it's ability to help you find what you seek, like that time I lost my
keys under my bed after an art party or the way it startles your senses
when it first appears out of nowhere
the reason light is on this list is because you can add light to light AND darkness,
Can't ever make something more dark, it's just the absence of light, but you can always make something more bright that it blinds you even at night you can ignite a dark world
with a single flame watch it spread like wildfire then nothin's ever the same like a lightning shock to your brain illuminating your whole world cause now your paradigm has changed!

(7)
Being
Can you imagine just being? That's freedom. To be is free, free from ego judging thoughts from others and your self, free from worrying about social conventions like waiting for permission to eat because the prayer hasn't been said or taking a job because it pays well but it makes all the days melt into a blurry line. Being is now, it's living in each moment and riding that wave to the grave with no regrets. Just being present is one of the hardest things to master cause the barking past and enigmatic future keep jockeying for attention.

Like that time way back when I stiffed some friends for my part of the rent or anxiously awaiting my move to New York pondering if I should tell my parents. Being is freeing that's why I rhyme and write that's why I let my mad scientist hair sway in the wind that's why I run towards an accident that's why I always know what's happening cause I'm tappin into what's tattooed on my soul. And I know you know deep deep down who/what your being is, but it's easy to let others complicate it with expectations like continuing education after high school and labels like teacher or homeless lunatic but you gotta dig and hold on to what you know is true because being you to the fullest is all you can do.


(8)
Love

Love is.
These are my 8 sacred words. What are yours?

Audio version can be found here...
https://soundcloud.com/brycical/8-sacred-words
The Good Pussy Jan 2015
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                         Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                    Stiff  Stiff  Stiff
                   Stiff   Stiff   Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
                     Stiff Stiff Stiff
        Stiff Stiff               Stiff Stiff
     Stiff Stiff Stiff      Stiff Stiff Stiff
     Stiff Stiff Stiff      Stiff Stiff Stiff
        Stiff Stiff                 Stiff Stiff
chimaera Apr 2016
Alices in holes,
swaying in the
land of mirrored
doors. Stiffed
Humpties on walls,
in the distant light.

Dumped my faith,
once, twice, three times
dumped it.  So, you see,
chopped my own heart,
had to.
Will you have me
around your table,
Mad Hatter, sir,
'cause i'd suit so well,
into a merry go-round.

No more me to
hand out, delusional
believer in stories,
made up stories
in snow faked globes.

Oh yes, of course,
i can pass the sugar,
we ran out of salt.
Shall we overdose now,
from a sweetened slumber?
30.04.2016
Willy McGee Dec 2014
I didn't think it was going to be any good.
The Party,
My friends.
                                              9:30
Rediscovered pesto to Arnold the govnah' in Total Recall
I walked in their door a thousand times for their entertainment
each time as a new character,
He's got a wii so he can play gamecube,
Bring your guitar
                                             10:30
The fridge had a paper snowflake with ******* shaped designs
You know why I like the kitchen?
The lighting on my friends faces,  I can enjoy everyones expression
Drinking game? Who can't moonwalk, place your bets, take off your shoes

                                            11:30
Pack of dudes showed up, Female hosts forget to invite ladies sometimes
Don't leave! Why? Your the prettiest girl here
oh no the neighbor is coming to complain but
If I know my sister like I think I do,
the two will be shooting whiskey on the roof in no time

                                               2:30
I took a group to visit my *******,
I knocked and sang at the door but she stiffed me
Probably a mistake but you can't start a fire without a...
so we left and played "dancing in the dark" in the parking lot

.... ....... ...

Why am I singing to you?
Your half asleep doing takes for my new voicemail
I told you a story about

TheAA Duracell battery who wanted to be friends with the 9Volts
The throw pillow who wanted to be a real pillow
The doorknob who broke herself on purpose
so intruders couldn't see what she had inside


I didn't think it was going to be any good.
The Party,
My friends.
Shades31 Dec 2016
Standing
alone
Darkness
and flame
Devoured
his soul
Crippled
and maim
Losing
his mind
as shadows
take over
Losing
all luck
like a small
four-leaf clover
Consumed
by fire,
turning
to ash
A fool
with bounty
turned in
for cash
Betrayed,
back-stabbed
and left
to die
"You were
ignorant
Now you wonder
why...?"
"You trusted
too quickly
Trampled on
Used
Demotivated
Attacked
Demoralised
Abused"
"You wanted
out
but got dragged
back in
Trying
to shout
but end up
in sin"
"One day
there was
a pure
little child
who, when
he passed you
always smiled
Until
the day
he stood
in the meadow
A flame
appeared
Engulfed him
in shadow
Smoke,
impure
as black
as death
destroyed
his body
like crystal
****.
It looked
to him
like help
arrived
And so
into
the flames
he dived
For a
short while
he took
comfort
until
he saw
he had been
hurt"
His body
turned
into a
crisp
His soul
into a
will-o-wisp
Existed
in
this world
no more
Burnt
it all -
to his
core
until
he had
to eventually
succumb
to the freedom
of drugs
which made him
numb
He lost
his sense
of feeling -
pain
No longer
could he,
greatness
attain
His life
was turned
round 'n
round
until he
wound up
in the
ground
Mentally
- emotionally -
lost,
distorted
Physically
beat
body
contorted
Stuffed
in a hole
Forgotten
about
His very
existence,
a topic
of doubt
Lost in a
world
of shadow
and pain
Where the one
source of light
is the one thing
that drains
Despite
the blazing
flames'
heat
his body -
stiffed
in icy
defeat
A light
so dark
it dis-
emboweled
a kid
who now
from centre
howled
Whose body
was now
completely
disfigured
Whose soul
became
utterly
dismembered
Devoured
by
cannibal -
butcher
He lost
the way
towards
a future
Smog
and smoke
that cloud
his sight
He ended
up
upon a
great height
He knew
that he
had lost
the fight
Below him
was
an ocean
of white
His only option
was to
fall
For there was
no way
to, down
crawl
He stood
staring
at his
defeat
The oceans
were to
about, him
eat
A soft,
sweet land
up in
the sky
Until
you fall
right through
and die
By water
or by
solid
ground
His fate
and soul
were now
unbound
The white
turned to
a sinister
grey
This was
to be
his final
day
And then
to black
did they
then changed
He knew
that this
would be
a dange'
A scorching,
deep flame
from it
arose
And just
like magma
on earth
flows
And like
Abraham
before
the king
But in
contrast
this fire
will cling
And no
small ant
will come
him save
No place
for him
to find
safe have'
A leap
of faith
over
the cliff
His body
turning
lame
from stiff
"Avoid
the flame
into
the river"
His strong
life-force
now slowly
wither
Trying
to hold
the land
in the sky
He thought
to himself
"I'm too young
to die"
As slowly
through clouds
his body
fell
Into
the flames -
the pit
of hell
And like
Moses
before
the sea
Except
that he
would drown
and be
lost
to thought
and mem-
ory
He wanted
to
die eas-
ily
And like
Lot's wife
who turned
on back
Instead
of coals
It was
haze - black
That turned
him back
into
the dust
"This 's what
I get
for over-
trust"
His life
will end
in a
swift fall
The fire
which
promises
all -
The world,
money,
drugs
and fame.
But
truthfully
it is
just flame
He trusted
it
and let
them steal
all his
life
seemed-innocent
deal
Filled
with regret
as slowly
he sinks
It will
be over
soon 's he
blinks
Fading
Dying
It's time
to go
They took
it all
but just
for show
He was then
placed
6-feet
under
and from
the world
did they
him sunder
Thanks to ThePoet/Sarah Ahmed for the inspiration to part of this poem (and to many other of my poetry)
Bob B Jan 2017
(Sung to the melody of Frank Sinatra's "My Way")

And so, I'm standing here
To say an oath and pledge allegiance.
Though some will cry and jeer
And accuse me of malfeasance,

The fact that I can stand
Before you now in a tough-guy way
Proves that you can be like me
By doing things my way.

Yes, I've stiffed a few,
But that's my disposition.
That's what you have to do
To carry forth your mission.

I knew what I was doing;
I was acting in a sly way.
Just do what I tell you
And do things my way.

You might not like the things I say
Or what I do, but that's okay.
Celebs like me have it made.
Just don't drop the masquerade.
It's all the same; just play the game
And do things my way.

I've had three wives. So what!
I've had just two divorces.
The news? Don't watch that ****.
I've found better sources.

I didn't get this far
By choosing the just-get-by way.
Since life is dog eat dog
Just do things my way.

You never know who you can *****
Until you shift your point of view.
Remember: *****, before you're *******.
At times be crass; at times be lewd.
Make up the rules; treat them like fools
By doing things my way.

Yes, do things my way.

- by Bob B (1-19-17)
tread Feb 2013
pop
the cool kids, moping, stenched and
stenciled eyebrows, miserable and
paralyzed in try-hard poses, thumbs
strategically stiffed from pockets;
miserable to be noticed. glad to be
an album cover.
Cedric McClester Nov 2015
By: Cedric McClester

I don’t rightly know
What there is to say
About truth, justice
And the American way
Except it’s never
Fully been on display
Ask the indigenous people
Who are here today

Ask ‘em about the treaties
That were never kept
And the opportunities that
They might have had, but slept
To insure that their land
Was fully swept
Of those invading varmints
They learned to regret

Truth, justice and
The American way
The Superman announcer  
Used to say
Before we started chasing
Immigrants away
Or we started treating greed
Like it was okay

God blessed America
With a gift
But the American dream
Is becoming a myth
And what the rich have
Can be taken away swift
If the people of this country
Keep getting stiffed




Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015.  All rights reserved.
Gerdine Feb 2014
how I wish you could jump off the cliff
and made everything else swift
where our failing feelings stiffed
but you would never care to rift
you just looked foolishly stern
while I am almost dead crestfallen
Kida Price Jun 2015
Words fail me to write in rhyme
And now I must sleep
I can't afford the time
For I must work that daily grind
In a workforce so unrefined
Tweaking cooks
And moody staff
All on something else
Just to get past
Drink and pills and greens afloat
Sober minds
Make nasty blokes
I work for tips
Or I work for free
It's up to the customer
To show generosity
Fake a smile
Show off some quick wit
Get stiffed again
These ******* ******
And soon a double shift awaits
And then again I'll stifle my hate
There are those who get me through
The days
And at times bring in love
Always coming my way
Making me laugh the shift into play
Maybe it'll be a better day
And I wish that I would sleep
But words are stuck
And they want me to speak
To write about nonsense
About my life
About my work
About my strife
And high as ****
But I don't seem to mind
I guess I found a little time
To be me within a rhyme
Guess that's cool
To suddenly see
My random spark
Of creativity
It maybe a waste of time to read
I'll take no offense
Because there is no need
It's my way of ******* around
Poetically


Thank you and goodnight
To the poor
waitress
who I refused
to
tip today during
lunch,

if I'd remembered
that
you work for
pennies
on the dollar,
I
wouldn't have stiffed
you;

forgive me being
stingy.
Demons - Imagine Dragons
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
Startle response! Wake--

When danger is ante
cipated,0h
--0n
lego-h-overedge aver
age
verbage re sighin'

clinging vines from debunked strings and
threads twisted wit'em.

Assume, if ye may or plea or will as
ye wont, pray means ask.

That's all.
Here, wit'afewmisstook aitches and spaces:
here is what we got,

a fresh secret story, un concerning anything you
believed you believed of/from/about idea ifify ie able ity ness

Reason requires response, Will Robinson.
Hidden persuaded, almost,
but lost...

Really,
what sacrifice bought
young John Carson to sublimnal
top 0'the mind status,
for the first two tv
generations?

Who do you trust? Carson's tv game
show debut, aimed at after school,
junior high, latch key,
wait staff on swing shift or graveyard,
the entire set of doin' nuttin'
'round Tea, fancy goin'

head t' head wit' Mickey Mouse Club,
on all the UHF stations out west.

It's 1957, who do you trust?
Time's man o'the year,
The Hungarian Freedom Fighter Idea,
the first stiffed
equal-value re
belicose cold war victim
of the famine for the grammar
of kindness and good sense
associated with DNA,
little green apples, puppy dogs,the
straight up command to love them that hate ye,
enemies and other words for folk
who would just as soon **** you
as hear one more word
about peace.

VOG,
words were scrambled,
christic crypt vacuum
tube
signal to noise ratio, caliber calculater pro
jection on to the rerewall o'yeardamnedbrain,

VOG Cancel
Bozo. This ad will **** for us. We can own the
'earts and minds of every grammar 'ater ever.

Since Babel, since Eber 'is 'ebrew ef-
fective, fervent...strainer at jots and tittlishit
self.

This ad makes mistook rules po'man laughable,
punch'n'judy'ishit:

Whom
do you trust, the grammarian so like so many
Deweyish proguess
edumacated teachers, you had this teacher,

squint, wrinkle nose, tight jibbs
frameless wire rimmed specs, a greying bun,

flower print dress wit' the weest bit o'lace,
lipless snide corrector's face. A trope archetype,
heroes re
bel
on demand, that was the plan. It
started with

AN AD. Who do you trust? Black and white,
Here's Johnny standing under the billboard,
y'know,
for the show, standin' like *******, shoulders
shrugged, palms up, elbo's bent

(contenintal suit, note the skinny tie, why?)
Who do you trust? Innocent grin, wordless
"Who knows?" or "knew"?

Whodjewtrust, in 1957? Cronkite, nicht wahr?
See the USA in the USA

in yo' Chevrolet, ole!
Yew should try Ritalin, for pep.

Take Serutan tonight, and sleep, safe and restful,
sleep, sleep sleep

VOG (Scourby) and, remember Serutan is Natures,
spelled backwards. Cue the choir,

safe and restful, sleep, sleep fade away

----
Where were you in 1962? Off t'college,
watchin' Johnny of Johnnies,

Johhny Quest, Johnny Lighting, Johnny Carson on

Tonight, there's more...
after the news, the dayroom in the dorm,

this is whence the quips in the quad were to be
sharpened wit'

fashion able ible tips, to fit the Esquire *** Hef
uniform dress code of mutual hidden

persuadeds.

Some souls were spared the spread of the
original tv virus, VHF, couldn't penetrate
the canyon...never subjected
to Howdy Doody,
our brains were spared the
complexes planted via the sit
com cowboy war subplot
phase of novus ordo
secluremishitistcal
experiments in
alientated
mind control.
We lived in the desert, in a place

a lot like Oscar's Oasis,
a wordless Korean Cartoon
set in a desert much like mine. On Netflix, 2019.

I did not watch the mandated ten thousand hours,
even when the deadline for party affiliation

mental ascent was ex
tended, circa 1985, pre-
tending to be a measure of de
fencing public universities from the
effect of rock and roll,

since about 1964

with folk like Dylan and Baez and Hallelujah
Jubilee and Jambalaya on d'Baya,
Herb's brass on the Baja, where all the girls
work it,
like 'otel Kali phornia, sticky,

sweet, like a taste of Honey. Mr.Bond,
meet Miss
Galore. OH GOD, in the car from the speaker
she heard the idea the meaning

in the name, oh god, she squeezed my hand.

Honor Blackman plays that role, she whispered.

Trust me. It's a good plan. We got these kids!

Mom and dad just won the war, had six kids in five years,

Levittown di'n't work out, couldn't go home,
mixed marriage, from the war.

Things hap, cajun catholic wannabe aerospace engineer spy guy,
lands in Alamagordo and environs,
Summer 1944.

Here we are, Equinox, loosing season, 2019,

so some prayers were for real.

Red somthin'r'other butterflies are riding a rare breeze
from the south to the north through my
makepeace home. My peace I give,
he said,
all that passed is unexplored, take all the time

you can imagine.

My wife knows the names of those butterflies,
that's part o'm'peace. Knowin' she cares to remember
such improbably beautiful things;

soul possessed in patience, is she.

footnote 1: Despite Ciba’s efforts to market Ritalin as a ‘pep pill’, the stimulant failed to become a best-seller.  But that was not the end of Ritalin’s story.  As early as the 1930s, psychiatrists working at a children’s psychiatric institution in Rhode Island, USA had noticed that stimulant drugs could have a positive effect on the academic performance and behaviour of troubled children.  Although few psychiatrists took notice of these observations at the time, by the late 1950s, escalating concern about the educational abilities of American children during the height of the Cold War encouraged Ciba to consider a new application for their drug: underachieving schoolchildren.  They received approval from the American Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to market Ritalin to children in 1962 and, almost immediately, it became a best-selling drug (google it I didn't write the footnote pard but I forget where I got it.)
Forgive the flood, but my dear reader, I rode this wave when I noticed you on the page, in life's book. I did not know your name.
Jay Jan 2017
woke up tonight
in the white ******
January dust

blinking eyes
so stiffed with
silvershaped rust

halfway open
as I looked at the
sun

cant tell where
this grey mist
began

one foot still
on this hard
steady floor

it might be shaking up
tomorrow
can never know for sure

now
you take your rain
and loosing time

I might fight for now
but i'll be fine
Ursula Wolf Apr 2020
I could hear as the rigid solitude knocked on my window,
I stand up with my trembling legs and look out through the glazier blot.

Dark towers of the night looming, mantle the Moon's light
Of which fairies were buried by fiend  of the shadow.

The beast huddled,
And with that, solitude also forsakaned me.

Emptiness, that I became,
Like a void spirit,
Who is silently striked by the devistating fist of scarcity.

Since the Moon was locked up in a faraway cage...
Shoreless the dark night, which burns between us,
And racking me for an endless time.

I am a bird, which pursuing its warmth,
And flying trough the stiffed mainlands.

I am a sunflower, which lives for the Sun
And nervously golden colour of it
feared from others.

I am an asterisk, which devouted to the Moon
And relishing its dim beams.

But I would rather be a shooting star once,
Than a callow craven.

I would rather wait among Time's grains of sand that snaring backwards,
Than becoming a desolate corner of life.

I wish the solid smoke of darkness would just fade away,
So my blinking eyes would know where to reach for you.

Frigid the scrapering, destitute nothingness.

Only you could smelt me, like the sunny sky a bird.

Deprivation of yours is devouring me,
Like affection my sanity.

Please bring back the Moon,
Because the night is perishing my Sun.
as you may know,

it was a seedy day

yester day

so i lit the fire and sewed

superman pants.



used herring bone stitch

soothing in white



watched the film

flickering

and remembered

fridays was fish



we had herrings

fried the skin crisp

the roes plump and hard



the boys liked soft

suppose they would



used old cotton,

naturally and the wire

needle threader

fingered stiffed

sewing done felt a little

better



more coal on the fire

all will be well
Shawn Steven Jun 2018
I guess and figure through my mind but you've heard about it so you herd and proud of it throwing a fit over here but you choose to be distracted just another game piece gotta have it crumble down we go don't you know that we can't have **** when the economy you support is graphed as pyramids brother don't you learn from the burn you try to hide out under costumes and postoring girl aren't you ******* tired of the disrespect taught as happen stance while they rub up just trying to dance will we not take for us stand up and smash flatten their dichotomy folks can't you hear or see those stiffed by voices rehearsed to seed self suvitude so dumb even the children are crying out loud to parents  drown them out with life subscriptions of fade~out work watch the ***** fallow step for the cheapest fad bought off bright surveillance malls stocked while cocked guns bleed out any chance of revolutions schmes so deeply entrenched in me brothers and sisters minds that those that see are ostracized as being blind as brightest light when the vial of darkness finally comes into sight triangles ripped into seems squares circled burst through gains made in hamonic occilations agianst the grians truth ends to all beginnings celebrate mathematical promises of failure by those who compete by cheat lies and deceit hermetic law will take the elites fall and drive it home once 144,000 Warriors rise in the wake of chaos sounding om
It's been days since I'm waiting,
waiting expecting and praying,
that you'll make up your mind,
and prove again how much you are kind,
by giving the right answer,
by telling yes to my hearty shelter,
if you only could reach the deepest of my soul,
you'll see that my heart is like a fool,
crazy for you and everything you do,
but stiffed, doesn't know what to do,
to shout high that his love is real ?
to scream aloud that he's really ill ?
ill of being sure and uncertain,
fed up of the mixture of happiness and pain,
only you can ease my heartbreak,
your medicine will be efficient and quick,
so open the eyes of your heart,
say yes and our eternal joy will start.
fika Mar 2022

Mothers
Talking to daughters

Jaded voices,
Become subdue.

Eyes gazing
Daughter-
Stiffed black corduroy dress

Threading interwoven
Fagoting stitch
A bridge between two edges.
Seam.


All I could think about was you.
Intertwined with you
Soul to soul.

Silent.
badwords Jan 2023
The words are all read
Children tucked into bed

Placation without heart

Those rats breed
On incestuous feed
No parent or decree
Feral dogs, free

The pups come amiss
Identities adrift
No attempt to uplift
Another brokerage stiffed

And they roar
And they howl
For the ever-late 'now'

And they feast
And they dine
That semblance of 'how'

They devour one-another
A cannibalistic cover
Reward for an absent mother
Station for no other

Bark.
Bay.
Cry.
You've devoured your reasons why
Tim Jan 2021
Wasted and wounded, I still adhere to wishing to be some new state
This country made his compatriots buried in the mud
This county slived hopeless ones until they broke into crumbles
This street has no vision,
It’s useless to bond each shambles together, rife with unrecognizable blood stains and toils
No one can creep into the dragon’s nest and see the deflective meanings on his unsharpened teeth anymore
I’ll die here against my will, and I’ll stock myself in a pine box
And collectors gonna collect me someday, so I’m not here to judge

Everyting’s primal, all the pride’s esteemed
My gun sleeps like a hunter’s, my pleasure gets lost
My deeds are tangled, time lays in a deathbed
My loved ones are ghosts, slaying themselves and wearing skins
I’m an antique sculpture that stands still in an antique pose
I got punched by so many weathers that keep changing still
Amongst so many individuals that think they have a style of their own, I made my stand
I’m broke down like a fortune globe but yet not broke in pieces
And collectors gonna collect me someday, I know I’m not ready

I have not to call someone that I think I scarsely know
“That’s not the real news” would be said,                                 “These not the real words”
Plenty things wouldn’t be dawned on if they’re not forgotten
Swear to god I’d know they’re true but they were stigmatized by the realities and brokenness
I’d know it’s fine to get involved in something I feel that I don’t know
Now the best I can is the worst they can’t, the tapsters got stiffed, too many thing’s wrong
And the first break of day turned to be the last spark of ray, I can’t even tell myself that the day’s done
******* collectors gonna collect me someday
I’m pretty sure

The sheriff eats his last supper, he’s going downsouth
He missed his target for 28 times, 24 times he lost attention
Neighbour mumbles :”frankly dear, I don’t care”, now I think he’s freed of wrong tries and right mistakes
Now he thinks he tries his last wrong chance to leave his girl hung on a crucifix, he knows she won’t die
Some details changed about the things fellow citizens talk about, they miss the closures for the each drag-to-death breath, they miss the infinity
They miss the times they would never know they’ll go astray
I’m blinded and I’m bored, far away from the grave-of-soul shores
Collectors gonna collect me someday, and I don’t give a ****

Fies, lo and beholds, invitations to a brought-down loneliness by a downtown girl
Fies, honking mouths and screaming seats
These streets got a lotta work to do with late-night loudmouths
They tuckle and thumb the gaps on the after-rain grounds under the scrapped magazine papers
Over the jacuzzi of draining blackness, under the trees, under the vast, they seek pubs and jobs
As a fact of no matter, I don’t sleep better compared to two days ago
My bed’s not cold yet, blackmen still arresting the quiet ones of bad-aftermathed jigglers at the blue ridge
Oh, baby, somebody’s gonna collect me someday
I don’t care
A young man of age
Whom I know through the door
Of my father’s hut
With the buttock window of your short
May be a mad Dog had raced
After you of late
Escaped only with a mouthful
Bite of your bottom
Giving your *** an access to
Free breeze.

Three days in a week
Not five as of the ‘oyinbos’
Being sassed to go European way
Gives us a stiffed neck
In our own father’s farm
European education for our
Father’s harvest
Being able to speak in slangs
To win oyinbos ‘divine’
Hand shake
‘How are you, village lad?’
‘Fine taku!’
Sored the white hand with
Mud
Going bear-footed to pay homage
To the hand that held him
Hostage
Bearing the decayed teeth to the white

Coming back home hopeful of
Rising to the highest celebration
And an apartment beside the
Queen’s.
I wrote this poem in the year 2005
Tanay Jacob Apr 2018
Pitter patter they went
drenching sidewalks with an ashen flood
Raindrops of grey
upon a lacklustre street
Lamps of ghostly light

And then my spine stiffed
The lady of the grey boulevards,
pale with apathy
I froze with chilling lips
being planted on my cheek
How warm, how gentle
Pause

"AHH!"
Hugs poisoned with mania
and lips of contagious callousness
Her lips curl upwards
And ****
Conceal, conceal, conceal!
Masqueraded pain
with smiles as a veil

So now I shuffle
in boulevards of grey
Cynicism my loyal hound,
misanthropy my doctrine
I swear the rain still goes pitter patter
Dull and lead and heavy
But I must be silly
This is all in my head...
Right?
Satan Dark Jul 2020
Blue, such an enchanting and bewitching colour
Being able to lure even the hungry gulls to follow
And give people the strength to go on in this world

For an artist to engrave an image in our minds
To help young ones find their path through the vines
To inspire a victim to release her spirit from the pit, wherever it hides
Giving life full meaning and see something else besides the contour of the sides

Yet, that sacred hue seems to bring me only horror
Filling my core to the brim with despair and anger
So much I want to put that lone rope on the hanger
Be silence with a swift move of a finger
Applause!
For tonight is my last time as a sovereign singer in front of all of you

Now, despite my love and moral right
My heart was shattered, its pieces cruelly scattered
Azure and violet lingers on my surface that once a refined look held
So the monster could be discharged from the misery it felt
Obtuse to the fiends it sends to win over my pelt till tomorrow due

The striking blue in its eyes that was found dreamy
Was just a snare for someone as delusional as me
Tore the flesh and meat protecting my pride that was soon to be
Taking away all of my licit sociality

Weeping flimflammery behind a vague breath
I fumbled and curl up in the dark in my dread
Eyes moist and cheeks stamped with a watermark
The blue everyone sees as breathtaking losing spark
And as my muscles began to stark
I awaited the moment where it would stop with the snide remarks

"Why are you useless in time of need!?
Stupid *****, nothing will ever fulfil your greed!"

Is that how you were going to treat me?
With cusses and heavy thrusts?
Ponding on and on until I became nothing but bones and organs mushed
If I try to wail or scream for you to stop
Another punch in the gut knocks out my air and my body thumps like a wet mop

I look in the mirror and I want to rend my eyes
Be blind, erase the person standing before I
With bruises and marks littering
Proving irreversible indication of its iniquity

Depletion, hysteria, fury, strikes me harder than it
I find it hard to stand on my own two feet
Teeth chewing and munching on as I continue to bleed
Remising of how I was just a kid

An innocent image bearing no dreed
Wishing nothing from her parents but more feed
So that my bones aren't as stiffed
Maybe then I'll be more gifted
More desired and loved
Like the blue was to me a long time ago
Cedric McClester Dec 2021
By: Cedric McClester

Mark Meadows do you revel
In the fact
That you served the devil
At the highest level?
Are you now admitting
To committing
Acts of sedition
From that lofty position?

Will Congress be stiffed?
Or is it a myth
That you’ll take the Fifth
Like a treasured gift?
When it’s do or die
Will you simply lie
So as not to comply?
Let me ask you why?

Were you concussed
Or was it power lust
‘Made you betray our trust?
You have a lot of crust
So tell us what’s the deal
Or how you now feel?
Only keep it real
About the Big Steal

Not to be abrupt
I hate to interrupt
Are you just corrupt?
What’s your construct?
How do you justify
They way that you comply
Do you just deny
That Sweet Bye and Bye?











Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2021.  All rights reserved.
Maheswari Mar 2019
Ignoring, fighting, and pushing people away from someone’s everyday life it is not vile and self-observed. It is selfless, struggling. As I don’t want others to be contracting for being surrounded by the hurt within me. It is indeed poignant. But I chose to be alone.
Being a friend to solitude. In the art of being on one’s own, i chose to surround myself with subtle things; drizzling dawn, parky wind, a quiet noon, starry night accompanied by The Moon. The moon that embellish my deserted nights, henceforth i knew i got one more companion that won’t ever leave me. A luminous circle up in the sky speaks through its light for me, convince me that i’m not really so alone.
“There are billion people just like you in the whole world, they’re just don’t desist to smile and keep their head up” said The Moon.
“How did you know that? How did you know there are more people like me in this world, in this filthy world?” I murmured.
“I can’t show them to you, but I’ve seen things that you haven’t see. I’ve lived for hundred years my dear, so that i have encountered so many things and people in my life” The Moon replied.
I still can’t believe that there are people who in despair of being alone but still manage to feel positive.
Then I asked “Aren’t you feel alone up there, in the sky that were so transcendental spacious?”
“I am. I was the only moon from the beginning, but gladly there were stars and various planets among the galaxy, and The Sun he might be alone too but he is so powerful and unbeatable. Everyone praise him for his light. I used to envy him, but that was a long time ago when i know so little about life. Even The-Almighty-Sun himself also has problems but won’t bother to tell me completely about it and i do respect for his own privacy.
“At a night time i saw people on earth who has a good life said the words of rage and cried in their sleep. Or people who haven’t eat for 12 hours laughed in tears by watching a cheap comedy-series. Both of the people got so many things run through their mind, so much sadness and worries but they spoke so little and smiled wider. I see that happiness is never an absolute idea and we never know what we want in this pointless circle of life, but sometimes you find peace in the midst of pain and suffering” The Moon explained.
I feel touched and stiffed at the same time. although the struggle did not end nor was it any less diminished, it somehow makes me feel better and sorry.
I outcry “Oh you’re The Moon, my dearest friend. For i have been blessed to know you!”
And ever since, the peace within the moon is the place for anyone in lonesome.
John Dunn Mar 2020
I fell as dead. He pinched my ear. I rose
To sigh a word of deep withdraw. He crossed
Eyed stern. I dropped my head. I peered the frost
Underfoot forming ground into green froze.
I hugged my chill. I stiffed nipped neck in pose
Of a soured guest swallowing throat. He sauced
Cold wrath in steam burst breath, as from a glossed
In light incense streak spit aside. He shows
In one hand seven stars. He has in hold
Of second grip a no named stone. I bow
From waist down at the last. I reach palms spread
To waive my wish. He shakes. He fists the fold
Signs on knuckles. He prays a puff in vow
To keep. I close my thumbs. He falls as dead.
TJ Struska Mar 2020
The yellow stained blinds
Lead to the alley with no breeze. As I watch hookers,
Predictors, victims,
And the other lost cling
To railings drinking what they have.

The women are once again
Ready to feel the pulse of the bar, bleeding red and purple,
The back door open To the swelter. Bob Segar And Stevie
Nicks, Pasty Cline and Elvis.
I laid above the heat blanching the small window with the yellow blinds,
Beautiful and ******.

I stiffed what I could on the rent, pawned what I could,
Cigarettes and coffee,
A piece of toast,
The only meal for the day.
Sometimes a sandwich or a Hostess pie. A burger after
Two days hunger tasted like
Heaven on Earth.

Sometimes running out of smokes, you search the ground for half smoked butts,
Coming up empty.
No soup kitchen where you lived. Survival of the fittest friend.

And I let my poison arrow fly,
Finding it's trajectory through juke joints With women and music.
You lean into the bar, and the
Glint of the mirror provides the harsh ambiance to the racket inside the Black Rail Lounge.

You rode its tide to the one room above with the yellow stained blinds soured by
Still air and stale clothing.
And the small window let's
In yellow light and little air.

And you must rise this day
And go to work.
But you cannot rise from the bed. You can only groan
As the room spins, and shut
Your eyes to the bloated morning, with hot plates and coughs from other roomers down the darkened hall.
And the Black Rail beneath
With Janis Joplin and Fleetwood Mac, and the steady beat lulls you insane.
And you cannot rise to the task at hand.

But you must.

Marshalling your forces to
The bus and the El down
The ghetto streets of Chicago.
Past tenements and junkyards, hock shops and winos taverns, where you made rubber plates for box stamping. And the winos And barflies line the taverns along Skid Row. Mostly black,
All poor.
Beautiful and ******.

And the hand of God reached down touching my ravaged soul.
Lifting me in Love.
Beyond the Black Rail and the one room. I've since drank an ale on this first night of vacation, watching
The nightfall to sounds in the meadow, As the first firefly
Lights my Window in a time of Passion and Passing
This poem was difficult to share.
It was a deeply tragic time of my life. But the God I love saw to it I didn't stay there. O am thankful for every moment of life...TJ

— The End —