"wartimes" poems
I calibrate and exuberate when I bring my new level,
these girls look me in my eyes and lie to me they can't push the right pedal.
I wish I knew a girl true to the heart and not after an agenda,
a real love rather than the alternative such as Splenda.
When will I learn this love is practically unattainable in this crazy world, especially in this globalized Computerworld.
Call me pessimistic or just down right ugly,
or maybe I'm just roughly stubbly part of this muggy money.
I wish we were utopian and part of simpler times,
but this is unreasonable and not realistic as we live in lifetimes of nonstop wartimes.
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
The eyes are a pair of globular organs of sight in the head of humans and vertebrate animals
Or are the eyes the window to the conscious soul?
They call me the Devil’s Advocate
Traditionally on the left side of your shoulder, purring that dead angels lie too
The lost pulse has been cause to abacinate
The light is blinding but you descry right through its laments, where the fleeting hope sings a tune that quavers as classical
The light is blinding but so is the crepuscular, encapsulated in a vessel of defeatism, powerless to shift my sole.
Your shut asymmetrical globes are created boundless by all existing matter that make them a home.
A Molotov cocktail in the shape of a hollow ***** reminiscent of wartimes and tearing without the gas
I choke on the smoke rings of the lit wick and I’m reminded that I hate going in circles and around
But they are also vessels of protection, a place for kumbaya’s around the fire where time is used to back-track
The deepest longings and recollection in my Purple Heart cannot be explained by how it beats 115,000 times each day
To hell with the sorry excuses and fleeting ideas of the Beaujolais
The soul is the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal.
Let your spirit descend into you again, fill your body like the dripping of Adam’s Ale from broken pipes
Yes, they are cracked, but your chest is not a bird’s nest in December
They are reminiscent of, but are not the promises your teenage self-made to your mother, saying, “I’ll be home by eight”.
Press your hands to the aviary your beating heart has been trying to escape, touch it softly, and this will be the first time in years you've been kind to the keeper of the grey
Glaze into the looking glass and hold your fists back, let go of the sharpness of your words and risk forgetting yourself
End the match that pinpricked the flame of hatred, and bleed out the blue and black of yesterday.
They call me the Devil’s Advocate,
You hang from the trees, but I don’t believe in gravity.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
Extractor of those awfully embedded times
That traveling memory, hidden in the back of worn suitcases
Brown leather and ties, like no remorse
Those breaths imparted, w/ lasting glare
The smoky windows in beat up wagons
Split lips from the boys on back loan
Wartimes, dragging utter sadness from the porch swing
Lost a tooth, and that made it smooth
Soothe the pain, w/ pints of tipsy water
We watch the sunset, in the field next door
Kissed & dangled, our bust behind us
Tumbled in the meadow, w/ no one else around
The boy I brought home is the same I fought
Every night, we tossed and paddled
Had I known, he would stay w/ me, forever
The girls from Seventh Ave. tickled me
W/ their stunty eyes and elongated dresses
Wishing, for a moment, we were out: the kids, picnic party w/ the club
Pa saw it in my eyes, the mailman and I
Even at the table with the shipped ashes and ol’ rummy
Playing hard to get with nothing but straight chaser
The mirror became such ferment to my frame
I began perturbing every milking like a daily lashing
And soon protruded my perimeters into giant horned gnats
Ground crackling and separated with ceaseless dust storms
Divided, on the fence back in the meadows watching it rain afar
In the familiar fields I laid, now a barbaric, decoded passing
I walk to the cellars every now and again, with my badges
Discreetly pacing the acreage, for a taste of interim regression
Now with no bandages nor luggage to carry my born chores
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 7:58 AM UTC
Detonate the fuse
Gonna start a ruse
We are gonna lose
Now it's time to break the cues
Can't hold back
Can't hold back
They just wanna live in war times
Never in time to the chimes
They're gonna live sometime
Can't hold back full-time
Can't hold back
Can't hold back
Detonate the crowd
Feeling so endowed
Yelling out loud
Taking a bow
Can't hold back
Can't hold back
They just wanna live in wartimes
Never in time to the chimes
They're gonna live sometime
Can't hold back
Can't hold back
Can't hold back
Detonate the main street
Underneath our feet
Well it's gonna reek
I can't hear any heartbeat
Can't hold back
Can't hold back
Father up above
Sent me a dove
A message of love
Can't hold back
Can't hold back
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC