"televised" poems
they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.
in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.
she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.
the demon version is grisly and cruel.
the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.
to conjure some
thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Here in America,
we improvise morgues
as needed.
in the cafeterias
or by the lockers,
near the ticket booths,
and at the altars.
We divvy up the dead.
Tally them
and report the number
like an answer.
13, 20, 49, 58, 6
Every death count
a timely national shock.
Almost as if
our well-televised
monthly tragedy
was ever anything less
than a game of roulette.
anything less than a matter of time
and time and time again.
Covering them each
with our bed sheets,
we try and stifle it.
Do our best to
staunch the the sights,
the noises,
(“just like chairs falling”)
the names
that keep bleeding out
onto our thoughts
and tongues,
Far too much and
too often
not to choke on.
Here in America,
we’ve learned that
horror is level-headed.
It is debatable.
It is pangless.
It seeps, deep to the core,
perverting with a silent smile.
the steady, feverish dread
weaving itself into the mundane.
the “god help us”
annulled by the
“respectfully disagreed”
the nightmare that lies
always just underneath,
and just out of mind,
Until it insinuates itself
Again and again...
Here, in America
We line the bodies,
death slumped, and
bled out on the pavement.
We arrange them-
Side by side.
Most are missing things-
a hat, a piece of face.
one shoe, a dulled pencil
(fill in C)
phones
buzzing on the ground
lit up with unread messages
(“Please call me”)
They are missing-
an upcoming
7th birthday party,
(Star Wars themed)
They are missing-
their vacations.
their first dates.
their college applications.
job interviews.
kids.
fiancées.
Lined up lifeless,
they are missing
far too many things
to gather.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
*The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will be live-*
The revelation will be streaming through your Windows
laptops and smartphones.
The revolution will be blogged
Tweeted, liked, shared, RE-blogged RE-tweeted
and Stumbled Upon in between
midnight ************ sessions
sandwiched between funny cat memes.
The resolution will be HD.
It's evolution will be high speed.
The whistles will be blown at with frequency.
The revolution will be commented on;
Scrutinized.
Vandalized.
Scandalized.
Stylized and advertized.
People will pay attention -
People will forget to mention
that some stand up, occupy, riot
and die.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution be streaming live
through the filter of your choice.
The facts will be democratized.
The democracy will be corporatized.
The corporations will personified.
People, objectified -
Spied on and villainized
The powers that be will will lie, deny, and try to justify.
The people will be disenfranchised.
Prisons will be privatized.
Death drones will be utilized.
No one will bat an eye.
Because revolution will be multiplied, over-simplified,
The violence, normalized.
Lives, sacrificed
to satiate the Golden Calf's appetite.
The revolution will not be televised
but Jerry Springer will...
Go figure.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Revolution: Part one.
The first French King sentenced to death,
Must have a new execution invented;
So that this day shall be forever remembered.
The execution of your King, this invention of evil;
This is how he will finally meet his end and go to the Devil.
The man behind the mask, the executioner;
Will lead us to change to a new world order.
A declaration of civil war, to stop the oppression,
Has lead France to say, we must fight to stop the aggression.
We must be revolting and begin the revolution;
To put an end to the executions.
The fall of the guillotine, for a life time spent,
Writing the encyclopedia, which lead to his death.
There is no place for God, in an encyclopedia of Man;
This writing is illegal, you are blasphemous! God ****
So the time has come, to take your last breath.
Remember when you see the guillotine... don't lose your head.
Until it's chopped off and ends up in the basket;
Another case of basket case madness.
No fiction necessary, for us to live here on Earth;
But this execution, you surely don't deserve.
So the poets leave France, before the revolution;
All of them heading, back to England.
These prison bars to entrap the young.
Taken prisoner for writing a book.
Follow their rules; free thinking is wrong.
The encyclopedia is evidence enough.
Man is born free and grows to imprison himself;
Then he must follow the orders, of somebody else.
Frances revolutionaries, said let it be, let it be;
But the nation is ruled, by the monarchy.
Imprisoned for what they think, the poets and the artists;
But there are no walls, in the prison inside their heads.
Begin the revolution and make us all classless,
Because they’re chained by society,
For the thoughts that they think.
A fight for equality, a modern day philosophy.
Man is born to think for himself; a revolution is on the way.
Liberty! Liberation for one free state;
A jaded nation must make a change.
Revolution began, after the fall of the blade;
Now the guillotine of power will stop us being slaves.
Preaching revolution, we must free ourselves of these manacles.
Preaching liberation for the masses
And freedom for the individual.
This new guillotine, the machine of death,
Makes the severed head fall into the basket,
As they take your last breath;
But they can't take your words, from the books you have written.
So fight the power!
Revolution! Revolution!
We must have a revolution, that is televised.
Che Guevara, Malcolm X, me, myself and I.
All of us willing to join the fight;
All of knowing our view is right.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
Machine ground days
Somehow survived by clinging to precarious plans
Die for those.
For proles are stuck in a televised gleam
but I’m barred from distractions
I’m a man of action
Spring healing:
I found a new hope to get through the day
It has a name and it’s you
Workday: animistic curses
against people and their systems and products
except animals would escape forever
as soon as they open the cage
but we stay
The beastly gnashings of overworked merchandisers
for invisible self pocket stuffers
The competition's getting to us, comrades
I feel swindled out of my labor
I was pregnant
but they sold my child before
I woke up
Addressing the solipsism of my rehab circle:
I’m Kagey, and my life is hazy
but, blunted or no, let’s get this clear:
don’t trust your senses
and that goes for all my human peers
Body is a cage full of defenses
Still, I’m suspicious of reality
whether it’s façade society
or the wooden chair in front of me
Still, I enjoy the virtual scenery
I ain’t talking about on the T.V. or phone screen
I mean the willows, buildings, and faces
But all these mushy green acres are fakers
blobs without our eyesight
Still tho,
me and the universe are tight.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
The things we say to one another:
we could
choose
to make them mean something.
I could tell you that I love you,
even though we've never
really met. You could
tell me that you're dying
and it scares you.
We could talk about the rise and fall
of injection-moulded empires,
the rise and fall of your
mother's chest, as she
took her last breath.
We could vow to behead tyrants together.
We could promise
that we'd never fall victim
to that same sickness. We could
compare our hurts and find a
connection
in our mutual pain. We
could try to share our loneliness,
and maybe the world
would be less lonely.
Or at least we could
speak,
like you're a person
and I'm a person, like we're both
made of the same
beautiful, doomed matter,
only separated
by social convention and
accidental skin;
we could say something worth saying.
Instead: plastic bag tax, The Match,
weight loss and where to buy
the best factory-seconds shoes,
the televised finals of something or other,
the rising cost of corned beef, the
obligatory conversation piece
about the weather.
Can't we talk
just a little bit
bigger than this?
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
This time the revolution will not be televised
We will not give them a chance to corrupt it with their lies
It will spread instead by word of mouth
In the dark of night
At odd morning hours
In the brilliant blaze of the sun
At odd locations
The revolution will go undetected
Until the ranks become the masses
And the masses become the majority
No color
No creed
No race
Just anger
The shouts of independence
The shouts of freedom
The clenched teeth and clenched fists
Will scream that we’ve had enough
That our stand is here and now
The revolution of possible change
The revolution of tomorrow and the day after
The revolution of now
The revolt against government chains
The revolt against corporate buying and selling
The revolt against misinformation and misdirection
The opening of eyes and voice
The screaming of the silent majority
Protest
In the streets
On the internet
In their heads
Docile no more
Grab your pens
Let loose your tongues
We are going to war
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Wish me luck - like a speech for me to read before I play. I am going to print it out and keep it with me., when I am at the final table, and it's televised, right before I win. The last hand, before I make the call of a lifetime - clock ticking, $35k first place prize money; I am going to take it out, look at it. Then call, Like a Boss. Black tinted classes, headphones looking like speakers, Yankees cap tipped to the side, Charles dickens on my lap. Sipping on some water shipped in from Vergeze. Cool as an icecube, rocking a tight Tee. Blue jeans, tim boots, Blasting ice -Tea; dudes ain't worried about cards, until the check me. I'm nice with calls, I'm like Jordan when he first started wearing the two-three. Sticking my tongue out at dudes that try and bluff me; the lack luster in comparison to me. I'm seeing their tells, like sign language. They try and force my hand, I do maximum carnage. My shine don't tarnish.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
I love Australia it looks fine to me mate
You see Australia is very cool
There are a lot of fun things to do here
You can go down to Sydney"s beaches
Like Bondi, Manly or even Coogee
You can see if you can run faster
Than the best at city 2 surf
It puts Sydney on the Australian map
And we also have our great sporting games
Like cricket, tennis, AFL and the two rugby codes
If you go to the USA, you'll see so many parades
They have for christmas
While we just have one main parade
Which is from Adelaide, and that is really good
You get at glimpse of the past with come on Aussie come on
Sydney started a great Santa race, where you run
A marathon dressed in a Santa suit
And it was brought to Canberra
And it was very successful too
There are two televised Christmas carols
From Sydney's domain and Melbourne's Meyer music bowl
Yes, if you see the great ocean road and then have a look
At the grampians, you will have a great time
And there are some great surf carnivals on various beaches here
Showing that footy and cricket, is not all we have
We love to drink, sometimes too much
But we are out to have a good time
A ball, we are ready to party this Australia day
Australian sons, oh let us rejoice
But we need to include women too
Australians all let us rejoice
With Tony Abbott wanting to destroy us
AS OUR BELOVED PRIME MINISTER OH YEAH A HEAP
We are aussie through and through
So when we go our on Australa day
We watch the fireworks, yes we are having a big ball of fun
In the country of Australia
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****
I execrate extraterrestrial.
We are all kaput to conk out.
Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.
If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing **********
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.
We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.
I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id. Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
<!>
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman
strap on a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released
a one way only sign
time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word leave just this:
where is the in in
intimate?
are you the in in
inmate,
or the jailor at the gate?
you swear never again
until committing once more,
a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,
and the greater toll taken and paid for,
and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity
happily
<•>
9/17/17 10:55pm
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
"You have a beautiful smile baby
Why won't you smile for me?"
Is what my mother tells me
On a daily.
I am sorry but these days
It's been hard to get out of bed lately
I feel like I am by myself
And something has got ahold of me.
I know I am beautiful
But the media tells me otherwise.
So I try to conform
To attract attractive eyes
That's dressed behind
Conceited lies inside minds
That could never realize
We need to be ourselves.
Not what we see that is televised
Or plastered about
That make us have doubt
In ourselves.
You see, I battle these bipolar demons
They rest in my mind
And sometimes I can feel them scheming.
I wish I could enjoy the ambience
Of life
But they've robbed me of my happiness
And turned me into a *********
They've distorted my truth
And robbed me of my youth.
Left me battered and bruised
And it's hard to figure out
What to do.
I know I'm not alone
But my mood tells me otherwise
The voices in my head won't stop
Telling me these demonic lies.
Showing me visions of my death
Right before my very eyes.
It's become a fantasy of mine
To see the crying faces
When they realize
They will no longer can see mine.
You see, I battle these bipolar demons
They rest in my mind
And sometimes I can feel them scheming.
I wish I could enjoy the ambience
Of life
But they've robbed me of my happiness.
Stripped me naked
And dressed me with sadness.
Thrown me in the depths
Of sheer madness.
I know genuine love
Makes the ********
About face
But when it's absent
Or gone to waste.
That is when
They are back in my face.
You see, I battle these demons.
These **** demons.
Lord please rid me
Of my bipolar demons.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
You're going to die
But there's a list of the 30 best cat selfies on buzzfeed
Something is going on in Ukraine, or is it Venezuela?
But it's ok...
Sherlock is back on
And you haven't finished Game of Thrones yet
God is a twisted sadist if he exists at all
But you have some notifications on Facebook
Don't think,
Just pick up the phone and play Flappy Bird
Let the feelies get to those thoughts that creep in
The revolution wasn't televised
It was tweeted
And its auto-tune remix went viral the next day
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
I love Australia it looks fine to me mate
You see Australia is very cool
There are a lot of fun things to do here
You can go down to Sydney"s beaches
Like Bondi, Manly or even Coogee
You can see if you can run faster
Than the best at city 2 surf
It puts Sydney on the Australian map
And we also have our great sporting games
Like cricket, tennis, AFL and the two rugby codes
If you go to the USA, you'll see so many parades
They have for christmas
While we just have one main parade
Which is from Adelaide, and that is really good
You get at glimpse of the past with come on Aussie come on
Sydney started a great Santa race, where you run
A marathon dressed in a Santa suit
And it was brought to Canberra
And it was very successful too
There are two televised Christmas carols
From Sydney's domain and Melbourne's Meyer music bowl
Yes, if you see the great ocean road and then have a look
At the grampians, you will have a great time
And there are some great surf carnivals on various beaches here
Showing that footy and cricket, is not all we have
We love to drink, sometimes too much
But we are out to have a good time
A ball, we are ready to party this Australia day
Australian sons, oh let us rejoice
But we need to include women too
Australians all let us rejoice
With Tony Abbott wanting to destroy us
TOO BAD JULIA AND KEVIN WEREN’T ANY MATCH BUT
We are aussie through and through
So when we go our on Australa day
We watch the fireworks, yes we are having a big ball of fun
In the country of Australia
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
For far too long we have been victims of police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 21st of October.
These are the very same men and women who we trust to protect us.
But they failed us dismally, barricaded us from expressing our concerns.
You could see the visuals all on TV, it was all too hard to believe.
The revolution will not be fully televised, it will be tweeted.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
For far too long we’ve been victims of police brutality.
Your teargas, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so what’s the hold-up for?
History is repeating itself in South Africa, what a time to be alive.
They’ve become worse than their oppressors but they won’t oppress us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
We will keep protesting in Jo’burg, Pretoria and Cape Town until we’re heard.
There’s no amount of police brutality that can dampen our spirits and no gun you make can **** our souls.
Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so why is there a hold-up?
Hold up, we’re tired of being victims of hate, fate and police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 23rd of October.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
Your riot police, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
When burning buildings come down, I just hope you’ll be ready for us all.
When burning buildings come down, we will effortlessly heed the call.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 6:21 AM UTC
I rode a curb side
dust devil into
the low side of
town.
Found myself
adrift right along side
the lip stick stained
cigarette butts,
empty dime baggies and
a city days worth
of welfare diapers
and plastic bottles who
will out last us all.
Same old dogs
along the same
old streets.
Dogs so old
they no longer
lift their legs to ****
Its a bit shameful
but a Hell of alot
less painful just
to let it go where
you lay or stand.
Bad kids with
big sticks and
fist fulls of
C cell batteries
chase the winos
along the railroad tracks.
They generate
terror and call it fun.
Televised Gods
for your televised mind.
Fall asleep with the
lights on ,leave
something to guide
me back home.
Blame it all on me
and I'll leave before
the hate sets in.
My time here is
far past due,
summers over and
the rare California rains
have come in.
I came only for the
weather and whatever
there was to drink.
Moonshine Cherries and
Jameson on ice.
The conversations all died with
that last bottle of whisky.
The mason jars are all empty
and this passing moment
feels right
for me to leave with.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
hearts and minds have become televised
we give every part of us for the world to
see and judge, because we crave attention
and criticism more than ever, just so we
can hold a grudge, like fudge
when have we ever
seen a society more damaged
than our own?
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
Our politicians preach hope
While our nation struggles to cope
Stacking woman into binders
Deaf to all but hired reminders
Treaties & agreements for peace
While riots rage on in Greece
Told that we are doing just fine
As more join the food stamp line
American banks engorged with greed
Planting in free soil a debt ridden seed
The next Great Depression has already begun
& It matters not which candidate has won
With our cancer ridden healthcare
Attempts like duc-tape to repair
Voting to raise the debt ceiling
An American father kneeling
Praying to God to find a job
While outside “we the people” form a mob
The 99% chanting in the streets
Stubborn legislatures don’t budge from seats
C-span listens to recipes from cookbooks
A dull murmur of televised crooks
Unemployment continues to rise
Prophets sure of the world’s demise
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
Communication technology recognition
Reformation in monopoly contortions
Feel the attuned tunes from satellites
Setting light like an antenna televised
Usher prolific hologram vised in vision
Bid manipulation bye to new world neon’s
Motivation from free thought movement
Commendations cemented in another time-zone
Complement to comment for extra terrestrials
Electrical vibrations moving from wired modems
Floating up above the skies, a heaven end
All life become a past tense lie, come lie
A dead fantasy for the oars ain’t tacky
The most surreal reality, the stability, an ability
Congeniality, this is an alien evasion, adaptability
Figure a boxer on the ring, trenching victory
An agility the accessibility to the victorious flag
Tracing admissible tunes, planking in a cool challenge
The heroic and not hectic hologram check the angiogram
Its not a diagram, but a radiant heart an earthy soul
Am a do anything, buffing myself to do anything
Ain’t a deal rocking the crowd in crazy clouds
Breaking the underground like a Fujita F Scale tornado
Ronaldo tormenting the ball in a field with F clef societal
Social control and orders, tormenting the ****** to extraordinaire, an extradite
Streaming live make you believe like you can live for real
Stratifications, ****** classes and sewn mobility
Chasing dreams in the winds deeply wheeled in a well
Be well as we sink so deep to seek and hold the dense
The essence of the whirlwind, it’s a seep through static
This rollercoaster an aspiration to inspire then perspire
Ever higher, from the root to crown charkra, a tantra
Annata,the ascending holographic magnetic hero
Tuning visions to dreamers and travellers
Hold my hand as we sink underneath the stratums
No sputum, just headphones.... a culture, it’s the new age soul
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
I no longer try to impress
I digress
Hoping that what is left unspoken highlights significance
You could be completely faithless
I'd like to think there's some reason for my presence
You're far more simple than me
I foolishly try to win your appease
Even though I know you wish I'd praise on my knees
Your ego leaves you thinking you are godly
To me you reek of voluminous folly
I am left begging for acquiescence
Communications fail and lessen to flattery and Superficiality
I want you to love me
Though I cant be sure on my own behalf I'd implore the same
It doesn't feel like a game though I expect I am being played
I wont falter to your narcissistic ways
We fight until the passion leaves us in a haze
It makes me feel alive when I oppose you and gain such a stance
It beats watching the latest televised programs
If it came down to you or I
I'd surely die to save your life
That has to mean something
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC
*throughout the day,
most oft at night,
start to say,
stop short,
painful for crying out loud thoughts,
shoutouts to any passing god
things that need to the air
be exposed,
but not to ears that
well, what could they say...
so stutter-stop
the bottling inside,
periodic fizz escaping,
and even poetry
cannot help
for it does over and over again,
end up as crumpled papers,
litter of the head,
halves, this's and that's,
even this one dies here and now*
~~~~~~~
irony delicious,
that litter sounds so literary,
so added débris,
lest my mangy constructions
manage to confuse you
the litter in question,
is your host's hors d'oeuvre
nibbles of works,
half-started, half-finished,
like rooms to let,
that come only half-furnished,
not a single morsel worthy
serving up,
all half-satisfactory
poems, of course...
the wrong write ***** clogged,
resting in peace,
Works In Progress (WIP)
unlike the poet,
who's just plain whipped
un-crumpled awaiting
an episodic finale,
if ever they should be televised,
they are needy for cumberbitches,
a birth or death certificate
sore lacking
pick up put down
new titles pop,
essays in need of love,
naught fruited, dead pits,
hanging on the tree till
gravity takes them prisoner
on and on for weeks
the side stitch does not
disappear, but does grow
aching familiar
perhaps the topic offends
you the most,
cloying, suffocating
self-pity
of your own hands
around your neck wrapped...
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
Bustling tall building
Height of success
I'd climb it if I could
With my young hands
But the topic will digress
And take up an idle way
With some ADD
On OCD, undeserved
Funny how things are no matter
**** you and your life
When work's to be done
Here's shying from, shirking from
Working until done
We can overcome
Right after this segment
Oh shh, show is back on
....
What was it we were fighting for?
Oh well, I forget it
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
you don't dare
unwrap the real gift
hidden under layers of hype
too hard to discover it
beneath mounds of plastic
under the glare of neon
falsities projected
aimlessly scrolling away your soul
Godless Yuletide
Christless Noel
sterile feigned joy
useless worthless feelgood frenzy
sentimental superficiality
televised consumer fables
cute trendy on the screen
market-driven fakeries of fake snow
Mammon's medicated stress-fest
passive-aggressive goodwill
American commercialism
angelic Antichrist malls of lost souls
waiting for the next explosion
trying hard to feel the warmth
in the winter chill
of hearts hardened
against the Christ
of Christmas
unwrap the past
to find the present
in your sold-out future
Christ is Lord
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC