"survivalist" poems
Again.
You leave.
Leaving me lifeless.
Life’s lessons are learned
Like this.
Through crisis.
Through hurt,
Through grief.
Heartbreaks make a survivalist.
Burnt out from the time I was
Seventeen;
Burst,
My heart has been set out for all to see;
Plainly strung up in pieces,
Like leaves
Hanging
Precariously on a tree,
Made from the bones and ashes of lovers
I’d never meet,
Each new year bringing a wind that rips
them from their branches,
A wind that dances through my memory.
This year it was you.
Turning me golden like maple leaves in
autumn my mind’s marked me as a dying
season.
And you,
You treated me like a poison.
Times testaments teach
To forgive
...Within reason.
You were a part of me
And I committed treason.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
My Darling, My Dearest
I sink to the dirt,
My regrets swirl around my body like a brides wedding dress.
White lace, virginal unsoiled regrets lay about me lazily-
biting my ankle, scratching up my legs to be held.
My Cherished Treasure,
I will carry my torment like an old man carries his walking stick
Gnarled with time and miles,
before any step I will take-
My regret will mark the path.
And I will walk for all of time with my walking stick. I will walk until I bend over in a broken bridge of bones, all the while letting my regret lead me onward.
My Beloved,
I will wallow in the mud of my sorrows and grief
I will roll and dry, caking dirt on my belly-
like the beast I have become.
My Beautiful,
The wounds that mortification of the flesh will produce-
will be sorry attempts to understand your pain.
The whip braided in tight thick leather
but I can never cut deep so I might
produce enough depth so instead will I bleed-
another sin, another crime!
I cannot feel your suffering-can only guess at the depth.
Oh the endlessly black waters of your sorrow!
I hold my breath, stones piled deep in my pockets.
I dive, I dive...wanting, needing this sacrifice.
But **** this survivalist in me. My lungs betray me-
sputter and cough.
I inhale my water of my sins and breathe them deep so I may drown and
free you from the shackles of my crimes.
My Cherished one, my Shining one-
Forgive this old sinner, forgive this reprobate heart.
For I love you.
When the stars exploded, when universes expanded
I loved you.
When the first blade of grass poked it's willful head above soil,
I loved you.
When first Adam kissed Eve,
I already loved you.
In the next life where you are caterpillar and
I am stump,
I love you then too, and beg you use me to reach closer the sun.
Forgive a fool his foolish ways, he knows no better
Forgive me, cherished one
and let me love you,
Let me love you as the faulted love the Divine. As the sinner loves the penance, as the child loves the stars.
Let me give you the moon, let me put it in on your lips.
So you may kiss the moon, beloved, kiss the moon.
Sahn 7/6/14
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
Don’t take me home
nostalgia lingers in my soul
like the taste of that forbidden fruit
like the taste of water and air when drowning
don’t take me home
a survivalist without nostalgia
is a fish out of water
quietly listen to the quest of my heart
as each drift is justified
and each love story
is a battlefield
a ****** fight
I fear
I, the survivalist, fear
becoming nostalgic for love.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
I feel an enormous serenity - floating in some lover's limbo.
Spectate the scene in silhouette.
While bittersweet coffee cuddles my palette.
I can finally breathe.
So why do I feel like a survivalist?
On a long haul where perceptions hinder.
For now I stay floating.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
I love reading Bukowski
and if I could pick one person to have dinner with,
he would be it.
He got it.
And I want to tell him I think I get it.
In his poem one tough mother fckr, he talks about this survivalist cat. How this cat inspired him and he holds up the cat
and says this is what its about, look,
and they don't get, and the cat knows its ********
I love how he said it was a beautiful fight, still is.
And how winning the war within yourself is worth winning.
I want to get drunk with him and tell him I think I get it.
I have fought battles and wars my entire life, and find it beautiful. There's a beauty in finding peace and letting go.
In getting up everyday when you have no reason to.
Plowing through the hard days and then looking back on the good ones, smiling, knowing you made it.
Battle worn, scarred, older, maybe wiser.
Certainly takes more whiskey to get you drunk
and more cigarettes to fill the lungs
More pills to help you sleep but you're still here, tough mother f@ck*r
It was a beautiful fight, still is.
The battle is never over.
For some, there's always another around the bend.
Small victories and large defeats.
And I celebrate them all.
because if there was ever a fight worth winning, you are it.
None of us are getting out alive, its the living that matters.
So live well enough that death trembles to take us.
I want to tell him I think I get it.
And have a bottle or two with him.
And celebrate him and myself and it all, the good and the bad
and live before I die.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
I am America
Conqueror
Conquered
Indentured
Old world roots
New world trees
I am America
To overcome
To transform
To dream
To live
To die
I am America
Native
Black
Brown
White
Mulatto
I am America
Soldier
Protestor
Fire
Healer
Flower
I am America
Christian
Jew
Muslim
Agnostic
Atheist
I am America
Master
Slave
Rich
Poor
Divided
I am America
Capitalist
Socialist
Environmentalist
Activist
Survivalist
I am America
Weak
Strong
Freedom
Dysfunction
Uncertain
I am America
Diverse
Tolerant
Racist
Hate
Love
I am America
So it is written
Natural born
Inalienable rights
Created equal
I am you
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
Hey dad did you know
the chicken we keep
locked in the garage
lays brown eggs
in the dusty stacks
of disregarded things?
Did you know I find every one?
A survivalist Easter hunt
in a salmonella **** shed.
You didn't know because
I never told you, for fear
you'd eat them as a joke,
or worse throw them away.
But you left the door open
and she's gone anyway.
Hey dad did you know
my car broke down on 17th street?
You do because I called you
on your way to church at midnight.
You wished me luck.
You'll pray for me.
You gave me the car,
thank you.
Hey dad did you know
that I once used
your hand made birthday card
to stop the bleeding of a neighbor boy
who thought your Scottish swords were fake?
No you don't because you weren't home.
Hey dad do you realize
you voted against me this year?
I lost my insurance last week.
You do know, but do you care?
You keep saying that you love me.
You yelled at all my races.
Asked for prayers when I had surgery.
Learned the names of all my friends.
Read my poetry when I was 13.
But hey dad did you know
that was never what I needed?
I needed a dad that didn't
have the nerve to joke
about how I made
new families with my dolls,
and friends when I was older.
I needed a dad who instead of
acting like his family was taken from him
kept his together.
And smaller things too.
I needed money for school.
I needed doctor visits.
I need my insurance now, dad.
I needed food, and a dad
who picked me up from school.
And a dad that instead of praying for me
raised me like my life wasn't broken,
raised me like I didn't always owe him.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 3:17 PM UTC
it’s not difficult
to know what to do
with 500 heads of garlic
but the garlic scapes
that’s another question
i’ve been grinding them
with basil, oil, nuts
and parmesan and freezing
the pesto
but the freezer is stuffed now
with strawberries and soon
the beans will come
then the broccoli
and the kale
i’m not a survivalist
but if the electricity
were ever to be cut
for a day,
well, i’d have to
haul out the generator and
today I picked up my old
two horsepower pump
from the shop
i use it to draw water up from
the pond which is 10 meters
lower than the garden
i am gradually learning to
look after myself
it’s been a lifelong project
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
It's chaos, chaos everywhere!
The economy has collapsed
All the major cities have been attacked
The U.N. and military is on the street
Our food supply has been cut off
They are hauling people off to FEMA camps
They tell you to go the camps
There is food there they say
But they are executing people there!
Stay away
Run, run
Where to run
People are acting like animals
America, our America is ruined
Some political dissidents were taken
From their homes in trucks
Their weapons seized
And all I have is food and water
For a few days
My can opener
A knife
I'm not a master survivalist
I would have bought everything
But I never had the money
I want to live
I want to live
I will live
I will live
They try to make you scared
With their guns and megaphones
And martial law
Martial law across the nation
And will I stay at home
Will they try to seize our emergency food
Or will I flee
Flee to the place of refuge that I know
Have mercy on me Lord, a sinner
Terrible trials have come upon us
I pray that I will do what is right
In your eyes
Our America
What has become of our America
Of this nation
The terrible times
I think they are near
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
he told me,
"the problem with our flesh,
is that it doesn't do so well
as to protect our bones;
you may prefer your heart to be bare
for the sake of calming the wolves
that you let slick your throat
with their rabid tongues,
but I know you know
that it's better to be the iron you taste,
than to be the polish for a man's gums,
and the wax for his teeth."
he painted my forehead
with the vermilion broth
he brewed from the throat of the hare,
and mopped his fingers clean
with my tongue
as we watched the vermin
give one last kick.
"but if you insist,
then I will be your cage
as I am your hunter,
and nothing will chew through
your pretty collarbone
before me."
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
the leaders of tomorrow bravely take to the dais
justified their precious life,
liberty and pursuit of happiness -
stolen under their figurative nose)
asper an unparalleled heist
recouping quintessential basic human rights,
and will NOT yield an inch
(or any other minuscule amount),
if for no other reason
(and many more valid claims prevail)
such inalienable American birthrights
(codified decrees endowing freedoms -
tattered to shreds via frenzy of bullets)
guaranteeing harm inviolable unjustly out priced
sacrificed by lax second amendment spiced
within wanton murderous sprees wherein assassin
literally calls the shots (supplanting
assigned storied halls with din
of fire arms (acquired
from pennies on the dollar,
or bartered for a bottle of gin
within the underbelly (viz black market)
of society, where trigger happy jinn nee
as slaughter sans killing fields mount
with resignation vis a vis
tocollective shrugging shoulders prithee
and upend safe havens i.e. storied academic re:
deuce sing self preservation (UNFAIRLY)
to activist minded students tree
ting each day as a survivalist course, thus WE
as coined on legal tender (E Pluribus Unum)
MUST unite against love affair with pistols, no matter
one or more mere mortals
think Matthew Scott cray ZEE!
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
I was supposed to choose
A program
They call it a "life"
I decided not to choose
Any of the life programs
That were offered to me
But to create my own
Recording
Recording
My brain is always recording
A world that is both infinite
And mostly meaningless
Forget a full-time career
Forget money
I envision
A terrible time
On its way for America
I am not a good enough
Survivalist
They want you to be dependent
I don't have all the things
I need to survive
Sitting here in my car
Waiting for the taxpayer
To leave from his lunch break
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
Protected by a suit of dreams
And armed with a smile
He came out of nowhere
And went his own way
Seemingly believing nothing
And walking in no-one else's footsteps
He follows no rules without reasons
But he knows right from wrong
And he knows that's what matters
In a world of easy hypocrisy
Where compassion is stifled by fear
And belief is a reason to hate
To hate and destroy other beliefs
He goes his own way
By Phil Roberts
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
Thankful for what?
I've lost myself and gained an insight into my own stupidity, my own arrogance. I think that I think too much. I think that I know too much. I think I'm right much of the time. (I'm not.)
What am I? Who am I?
I feel like I know who I am.
But, I need to be something too.
And, that, friends, is the lizard-faced terror of our Capitalist society.
Some of us know who we are and that is definition enough.
Others of us need more than one definition.
Poet.
Writer.
Raconteur.
Able to stave off poverty,
socioeconomic savior?
Survivalist instructor to the less-fortunate?
What am I now?
Not very much at all.
This is not a good line of thinking.
My self-talk is not very good these days.
I want to make something happen.
Doors opening or closing,
is the hell of this particular hallway.
There are no open doors.
Every one of them is locked.
My kicking is bootless
as are my cries.
(Positively Shakespearean!)
I'm waiting for someone who carries a key.
This is not my style.
I want to wreck some rooms.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 1:06 PM UTC
Forged while in utero (the crucible concocting conception),
the fluke of biology begat
me – a happy go lucky boy, whose vulnerable uber travails
susceptibly sprung sly as a cat
on a hot tin roof, where the faux pas survivalist diktat
burrowing into my figurative,
elusive, and divisive gofer hole decreed éclat
where solitariness didst a ford
driven psychologically by obsessive fiat
a compulsion to grip tightly
with distorted, dispirited and disgruntled guilt
evasiveness where schizoid personality disorder
rudely rued the day halt
ting natural development
of body, mind and spirit, a rampant insult
finding thyself as a kid alienated, deviated, and gravitated by jolt
like electric shock from how peers responded to knocked
down confidence, egoism, faith, et cetera within self locked
and linkedin to an identifiable causes
(which said malady) – marked
by painfully being shy, debased fortitude,
and intimidation noted
prominently when thee papa found him walking toward me,
where he orbited
from the dark side of me noggin
with no intent at harm, yet a portent
welled up inside
mine chromosomal maternal and paternal quotient
whereat this unease generated an unspoken radiant
cowering reaction training thyself crouch with silent
body language that bespoke volumes expressing torment
with nary a clue (meaning approximately
xl plus years ago) only the unguent
of magic powers to disappear
since silent springs restrained thee to vent
and only when this sole son started a family of his own and went
back to visit parents did a diminution
sans cower take the shortest xing
in heyday of inferiority spurred (a veritable bee line back
tummy honey combed hive), or if feeling especially intense – a yurt
would answer the call of duty, and once inside
close all the zippers.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 2:46 PM UTC
Regarding yours truly
he experienced setback
amplified by Luddite propensity
nostalgic longing for simpler age
bring back horse and buggy
better yet find me a mancave
and/or apprise me
ideally via email
Flintstone web page modality
allowing, enabling, and providing
excellent linkedin access
whereby augmented
and/or augmented reality
telecommunication simulation
delivers, exports, and ferries lame poetaster
to small town America
a place that time forgot and
the decades cannot improve
within which dwell
strong women, good-looking men
and above average children
Wobegon place name
preserving lifestyle
exhibiting voluntary simplicity
though aforementioned fictitious locale
fires up imagination as does
a place called Willoughby
flourishing along outer limits
of twilight zone
buzzfeeding outlier zee
crème de la crème confabulist
this side of Schwenksville
hankering towards... nebulous
body, mind and spirit synchronicity
courtesy sweat of mine brow equity
acquiring alliance, cognizance, existence,
guidance, intelligence...
think **** Proenneke
alone in the wilderness survivalist
jack of all trades
I would live free,
yet nevertheless die
ill equipped to captcha victuals
and/or drink
to stave off hunger
and/or thirst respectively
one twenty first century beastie boy
heavily dependent upon
urbanization, mechanization,
industrialization, civilization
to savor creature comforts
climate controlled environment(s)
courtesy finite fossil fuel extraction
**** sapiens scourge upon planet Earth
me metaphorically on par
one more human parasite
zapping nonrenewable resources
thus desirous (yet helpless)
to forsake consumerist lifestyle
yet lack ways and means
to toil physically
to wrest good n plenti
juicy fruits of labor,
which initial premise
as iterated with poem title
dramatically off tangent, yes?
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 9:02 PM UTC
Entering the majestic Stage,
A clown juggling with Precision,
Performing an act to Assuage,
Epitomizing life was a multitude of Missions.
The Lion came Roaring,
Headstrong it wouldn’t be Tamed,
Compromised merely by a whip Slashing,
Fear possessed us all Restrained.
On a tightrope a Uni-cyclist,
Glorifying an ability Unprecendented,
Shaming the world and each Survivalist,
For the ability to coexist Disoriented.
Splitting a child’s body in Half,
A magician triumphant to Deceive,
As if conducting on the world’s Behalf,
The treachery of humanity, why Grieve ?
A drum roll to announce you’re Alive,
Dancers, hoopers and musicians Arise,
It is the one and only life, why Deprive ?
A flamboyant CIRCUS with Lows and Highs.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
wont get a red cent from me
(explained by following words you see)
No...not until the
bitter cold temperature,
sans iron maiden
(Polar Vortex) grips
Southeastern Montgomery County
(Perkiomen Valley) Pennsylvania
will this foo fighting
goo goo doll, beastie boy - hips
stir survivalist
wannabe contemplate
cracking on the heat,
no matter mine lips
might turn me, and
false teeth chatter
(even after taking them
out of my mouth)
as the mercury dips
way below degrees
(Centigrade, Fahrenheit,
or Kelvin) oh Lord
will passing thought eclipse
penumbra of mine
cerebral cortex reckon eyes,
the benefits to future
cryogenicists voluntarily becoming
(a frozen human
Guinea Pig) realize
zing molecular biochemical
behavior practically
comes to a stand
still, I surmise,
which cessation of
ordinary senescence buys
time until some
future age, when scientists
long since didst devise
strategies to approach immortality,
(viz keeping "live" body
electric factory completely
preserved), and get wise
to hidden secret to exorcize
death be not
proud, thus putting
funeral parlors out of business,
which astute morticians who espies
the future, and how
the quaint practice,
asper burial plots
(oh...so yesteryear),
and dramatically dies
down quickly giving rise
to the burgeoning enterprise
re: bajillion dollar franchise,
where death cab for cutie
offers ***** prize
a coffin (grateful dead set)
"feign" to eulogize.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 1:40 AM UTC