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"trosky" poems
I reached enlightenment going 75 on a highway on a summer night No visions of Blake Only spirits of Kerouac and Thelonious Monk beside me as I sat glued to the wheel The psalms read as tail lights The night smelt like memories of Boy Scout camp in the hills I saw all of the kids of the American night as they should be O holy angels Fresh cut sunflower souls Finding cute boys in Nashville or Indiana Breathing in every ounce of childhood nostalgia with cigarette whispers The only cigarettes I smoke are the secondhand whisps from close friends The smell of cigarettes reminds me of lost love No tears of Marx Karl Marx is asleep tonight and all is quiet Josef Stalin sits in an alley Gut rot drunk and weeping Somewhere in South America Trosky weeps through holes in his head the shape of ice picks O American children Drinking 100 proof distilled American passion A stronger high than all the drugs I have never taken A stronger kick than all the boots of the ones who won't put up with apathy any longer Tonight we are the ones who are holy and crying The chill of the night seeps into my bones and I shake with the earth and with drums and saxophone and everything sounds as it should Paul Robeson my heart goes out to you wherever you are tonight I stand watch so the skeletons of Babylon can throw stones at you no longer The shattered glass reminds us the struggle isn't over O American Angels listen to me ramble I have sat in ecstasy and seen the smile of God and everything will turn out ok Death comes when it has to Don't rush it my friends Until then raise whatever glasses you have as high as you can Use the stones they throw to build your foundation Kiss the ones you know in your heart to be holy Don't worry how loud you are yelling This is America and you don't have to be sorry This is as beautiful as we allow it to be This is as many tears as we can afford Only saints cry on Thursdays And tonight the wisdom of sages are written on bathroom stalls for whoever cares enough to read it Bless everyone who sneezes Don't  tell yourself that you aren't enough Don't fool yourself that there is an enough You are already as complete as you can be You are the sunflower soul You are enlightenment Going 75 Down a highway In the American night
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Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
daniel-robinson
Enlightenment
I reached enlightenment going 75 on a highway on a summer night No visions of Blake Only spirits of Kerouac and Thelonious Monk beside me as I sat glued to the wheel The psalms read as tail lights The night smelt like memories of Boy Scout camp in the hills I saw all of the kids of the American night as they should be O holy angels Fresh cut sunflower souls Finding cute boys in Nashville or Indiana Breathing in every ounce of childhood nostalgia with cigarette whispers The only cigarettes I smoke are the secondhand whisps from close friends The smell of cigarettes reminds me of lost love No tears of Marx Karl Marx is asleep tonight and all is quiet Josef Stalin sits in an alley Gut rot drunk and weeping Somewhere in South America Trosky weeps through holes in his head the shape of ice picks O American children Drinking 100 proof distilled American passion A stronger high than all the drugs I have never taken A stronger kick than all the boots of the ones who won't put up with apathy any longer Tonight we are the ones who are holy and crying The chill of the night seeps into my bones and I shake with the earth and with drums and saxophone and everything sounds as it should Paul Robeson my heart goes out to you wherever you are tonight I stand watch so the skeletons of Babylon can throw stones at you no longer The shattered glass reminds us the struggle isn't over O American Angels listen to me ramble I have sat in ecstasy and seen the smile of God and everything will turn out ok Death comes when it has to Don't rush it my friends Until then raise whatever glasses you have as high as you can Use the stones they throw to build your foundation Kiss the ones you know in your heart to be holy Don't worry how loud you are yelling This is America and you don't have to be sorry This is as beautiful as we allow it to be This is as many tears as we can afford Only saints cry on Thursdays And tonight the wisdom of sages are written on bathroom stalls for whoever cares enough to read it Bless everyone who sneezes Don't  tell yourself that you aren't enough Don't fool yourself that there is an enough You are already as complete as you can be You are the sunflower soul You are enlightenment Going 75 Down a highway In the American night
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48
FRESH His parents are completely lost; they don’t know what is going on He’s skipping school, he’s talking back, the boy they knew is all but gone He’s scared he’ll be made fun of, if he comes off as too pure, Besides, it doesn’t hurt to live a little, of that he’s very sure. It hurts too much to be different; he has to be the same And though he knows it isn’t right he falls into their game He falls hard and breaks himself over and over again The girls, the drugs, they’re all that matter, its etched into his brain Euphoric pleasure clouds his vision; he can’t see what he’s doing It makes him blind, it makes him numb; he can’t see where he’s going The jagged, thorny, downhill path somehow eludes his very eyes And all he sees and all he hears are what they show him and all their lies. He’s made a choice to breathe their fumes and live off their sweet poison The high it gives, it separates him from the soul that he keeps bruising MATURE Oh the pain of memories! The times he used to have, He’d trade an arm, or both his legs to the one who floats above To have them back, to live again, if only for a moment When aging was a distant threat, when he knew not what it meant. Now life is far less exciting, work, wife and children Each a challenge on its own, a dream until he had them He’s overworked, he’s very stressed, he’s broken down in every way He rises up before the sun and boards a trosky every day It’s off to work and back again, how much can a poor man take He needs to rest before he dies; he needs more than a simple break GRUMPY The youth they think they know it all, their twisted sense of right He wishes for the good ol’ days when bark was equal to bite As his daughter scolds her son, he shakes his head and then he grunts If he were her he would have spanked that naughty child over his pants. Fear, that’s what it is, they’re scared of being hated, Can you believe she had the nerve to call his ways outdated? Yes, he admits that might be true but weren’t they effective? He’s given up advising them, their hearing is selective. Why should a man as wise as he even waste his breath? At least he knows he won’t be bothered when he sleeps in death.
0
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 9:53 AM UTC
Akuffohene
The Three Men
FRESH His parents are completely lost; they don’t know what is going on He’s skipping school, he’s talking back, the boy they knew is all but gone He’s scared he’ll be made fun of, if he comes off as too pure, Besides, it doesn’t hurt to live a little, of that he’s very sure. It hurts too much to be different; he has to be the same And though he knows it isn’t right he falls into their game He falls hard and breaks himself over and over again The girls, the drugs, they’re all that matter, its etched into his brain Euphoric pleasure clouds his vision; he can’t see what he’s doing It makes him blind, it makes him numb; he can’t see where he’s going The jagged, thorny, downhill path somehow eludes his very eyes And all he sees and all he hears are what they show him and all their lies. He’s made a choice to breathe their fumes and live off their sweet poison The high it gives, it separates him from the soul that he keeps bruising MATURE Oh the pain of memories! The times he used to have, He’d trade an arm, or both his legs to the one who floats above To have them back, to live again, if only for a moment When aging was a distant threat, when he knew not what it meant. Now life is far less exciting, work, wife and children Each a challenge on its own, a dream until he had them He’s overworked, he’s very stressed, he’s broken down in every way He rises up before the sun and boards a trosky every day It’s off to work and back again, how much can a poor man take He needs to rest before he dies; he needs more than a simple break GRUMPY The youth they think they know it all, their twisted sense of right He wishes for the good ol’ days when bark was equal to bite As his daughter scolds her son, he shakes his head and then he grunts If he were her he would have spanked that naughty child over his pants. Fear, that’s what it is, they’re scared of being hated, Can you believe she had the nerve to call his ways outdated? Yes, he admits that might be true but weren’t they effective? He’s given up advising them, their hearing is selective. Why should a man as wise as he even waste his breath? At least he knows he won’t be bothered when he sleeps in death.
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