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Cori MacNaughton Aug 2015
Here is the inimitable Jeff Buckley's poem, "My New Year's Eve Prayer," which he performed live at Sin-é in Manhattan, NYC, in 1996.


"You, my love, are allowed to forget
about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house.

You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight
of all the years before,
like bad disco clothes.
Save them for a night of dancing ****** with your lover.

You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown
every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams.

You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth
and your most terrifying magic;
and dreaming is for the courageous.

You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar
and sing me idiot love songs
if you've lost your ability to speak.
Keep it down to two minutes.

You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die
and to live again,
more alive and incandescent than before.

You, my love, are allowed to beat the **** out of your television,
choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind.
****! ****! ****! **** the *******
before the song of zombiefied pain
and panic and malaise
and it's narrow right-winged vision
and it's cheap commercial gang ****
becomes the white noise of the world.

Turn about is fair play.

You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television.

You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses
to those around you
and those up in heaven.

You, my love, are allowed to show your babies
how to dance full bodied,
starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified.

You, my love, are allowed to **** in every single endeavor.

You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket
in the New York summertime
with the wonder of your own special gift.

You, my love, are allowed to receive praise.

You, my love, are allowed to have time.

You, my love, are allowed to understand.

You, my love, are allowed to love.

Woman, disobey,
when little men believe;

You, my love, are Rebellion."
For Hello Poetry user "Jeff Buckley":

While I agree that musician Jeff Buckley's lyrics are poetic, and often reach the level of true poetry, here is one of his actual poems, never set nor intended to be set to music.  

It is a ****** good poem,  touching on a number of subjects near and dear to my heart, which strongly resonates with me.

For the record, I have come only recently to the music of Jeff Buckley, within the past year, through my wonderful and musically adept husband Marek.  Buckley's music has moved me far more than that of most other singer/songwriters, save only for Steven Wilson, Mariusz Duda and Nick Drake.  He and I shared a lot of influences in common, from old 1920s blues and jazz, to pop standards, French music, classical and early British rock and progressive rock.  His first and only studio album released during his lifetime, "Grace," is not to be missed.

Sadly, he drowned at the age of 30, accidentally or otherwise, robbing us all of his incredible gift.  Not only was he an amazing songwriter, but a fine guitarist and, most of all, an incredible vocalist.  He had not only an amazing vocal range, but as mentioned a widely divergent source of influences, lending to some truly transcendent music and lyrics.  

RIP Jeff Buckley.  You are sorely missed.

For those interested in seeing his performance of the poem, which shows what a humble guy he was, you can find it here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duoujUI--Mo
Croft Cooper Aug 2014
Take these, they say;
They will help, they say.

How ‘bout some venlafaxine?
That will stop you wanting to die.

Bit anxious?
Some lorazepam will fix that!

Oh, how’s your sleeping?
Temazepam, zopiclone!
That’ll do the trick.

Your mood is unstable?
We have something to cure that!
We’ll add on some lithium and quetiapine,
How does that sound?

You’ll be all better in no time.

You take the pills,
Two in the morning (with a large glass of water)
During the day (as needed)
Three more in the evening (after food)
And three at night (an hour before bed)

Am I all better yet?

Well, I guess I don’t feel anxious..
And my mood isn’t all over the place…

In fact; I don’t have a mood at all.

Nothing.

Zombiefied.
Impzz Jan 2017
Wake up wasting most of my life
Pass out I'm waiting on the night time
Can I be?
What you can see ?
Repeat until the days are over
Watching you and me get older
Following
What I think
Wicked ramble ways that I take
You find reality in escape
Is that true ?
Please step through

This ride that you took in your eyes
Put you right back down inside
and now it's all a dream
This ride that you took in your mind
Left you pale and zombiefied
a ghost like me

Whats that out in the distance
A lost tomb on the edge of existance
Desert skies
Down behind
Going to travel until I get there
Not going to stop until I get there
Now behind
The setting sunrise
Opening the front gates
I hope its not too late
To see what has they done to you
To see if what they said is true

This ride that you took in your eyes
Put you right back down inside
and now it's all a dream
This ride that you took in your mind
Left you pale and zombiefied
a ghost like me

I hope that I dont end up like you
Out in the desert with a lost tomb
I hope that I can find my way through
and not end up in a lost tomb

This ride that you took in your eyes
Put you right back down inside
and now it's all a dream
This ride that you took in your mind
Left you pale and zombiefied
a ghost like me
Song lyrics
spm May 2014
Are we all ******* blind?!
How did we all fail to see the
apocalypse in it's twisted occurance
Detinating life as we know it
All I see are Zombies
All that's left are zombies!
Look there! That girl walking
Missing half her life
Half dead-trapped
no real human left behind her eyes
Walking aimless to her desk
To her future
Look at that zombie over there!
Drowning himself in alcohol
Killing himself again
Just to feel alive
Though simultaneously
wasting...away....


I better do the same
Hide the life so I don't get eaten
and zombiefied myself
I must survive this apocalypse

Trying
        To

           Survive

moving forward & forward & forward

I have become a zombie.
mikecccc Nov 2015
I got no sleep
No good reason why
Now I'm stumbling
And bumping into walls
Up is down and down
Is sideways
I can't hold a conversation
I'm a touch zombified
So now I'll set my alarm
And get what zzzzs
I can before
I head out.
Mike Hauser Nov 2018
Tickling of the fancy
Tainting of the tongue
They'll have you 100 proof
Before the day is done
Fill your mind with hatred
All in the name of love

Deadman
When will you wake up

Hail for you a taxi
Giving you a ride
Windows black front and back
So you can't see outside
Yes, Virginia, there is a clause
A case of do or die

Deadman
When will you open up your eyes

They have you follow orders
Marching to the beat
Zombiefied look in your eyes
Shuffling of the feet
It's hard to see the truth
When you don't see the need

Deadman
When will you believe
Simon Soane May 2016
Being a weekend binge drinker I don’t really like Mondays
my poor fragile mind is in a alcohol daze,
my limbs are slow and heavy, each movement is a trial
I feel like I’ve ran a marathon after swimming the length of The Nile,
I lop around all zombiefied my legs are full of lead
my eyes are groaning loudly, like an extra from The Walking Dead,
I’m on the verge of snoozing, I do that sleepy involuntary ****,
I pinch myself real hard “Si you have to stay awake in work!”.
So I take a trip to the disabled toilet and have a nap on the ceramic floor,
hoping I’ll feel much better after this tad of a tiny snore,
I rouse after ten minutes and decide to control this ***** ridden strife,
I must get a grip soon, I want a grasp on this Monday life,
a light bulb pings out of nowhere to brighten my maudlin mood,
this sweet recovery will be engendered by lots scrumptious of food,
so I indulge in a savoury overload and gorge on toast and crisps;
Discos, Hula Hoops, Quavers and defo tons of Frisps,
on my dinner I scoff a Mac Donalds and then a Greg’s sausage roll,
this hungry Homer gluttony helps to sustain my whole,
the calorific sustenance does it’s job and my hangover starts to diminish,
I gaze at the computer’s clock and think “hey it’s time I finished!”.
I ponder “ohh I can glide home knowing my day is done
and if it stays sweet and bright I can enjoy a few hours in the sun,
after that I can watch Breaking Bad and catch up with Coronation Street
while busting out the texts and having more to eat,
yeah I’m see what Walter White’s up to while being really greedy,
wait a ******* minute, tonight’s when I’ve said I’d help the needy!
*******, **** **** **** ****, that’s my evening of chilling down the spout,
rather than a hammock night in I’ve got to venture out
and feed a load of ungrateful gits who don’t even clear their plates
and ask me if I’m a cross dresser while sniggering with their mates,
rather then see if Jesse gets caught by Hank and how the story unfolds
I’ll have to scrub those scrubbers dishes pristine while wearing marigolds,
as oppose to nodding off reading with a Rustlers under my front room lamp
I’ll have to put a load of cutlery away after making a 20 sugar brew for a *****!"
So I decide the Wellspring is off tonight as I really can’t be assed going
I’ll just graft extra hard for *** next week and keep the drinks a flowing,
so I’m just about to pick my phone up and call in with a excuse that’s pretty lamey
but then I realise if I don’t go I won’t get to see Amy!
Suddenly there is a spring in my step, my motion feels on point
I shower very quickly and post drying roll a joint,
I have a zip in my posture as I sail and blaze down the road
all my thoughts of staying in they instantly erode,
I think “Amy is ace and topper, in her company all is fun
she’d make a day of gloom resplendent with the sun,
her chirping silly noises are always brill in the air
she turns my giggles to def com one, I laugh without a care,
I mean I know I'm hilarious, I can feel my own strengths in my head and tummy
but when I'm with Amy I'm even more funny!  
She makes it all sunny!
Cos we can berate that gormless Declan who eats with the speed of a cheetah
say he's troffing all the time, like a professional eater,
we can spray a bit of water, have a lot of chat
teleport through nonsense with the free degree of claptrap,
chill around the washer where all the cool kids hang
kicking back like Gs, knowing all the slang,
flick a fleck of sausage then have a speaking swirl
flex the talking muscles with sweet balletic twirl.
I mean she's not perfect, she could improve her lot
she's pretty immodest, always going on about how she's so hot,
alright supermodel, calm down, yeah, okay you were blessed with good looks
be you know being arrogant really ******* *****.
And she don't like the ***** cats, her brain must have a feline blur
how can she not warm to their whiskers and their contented little purrs,
her eyes sometimes don't always work and she is optically infirm
and she steals pies from the scrotes, she don't know to wait her turn,
she'd stab you in the back for a go at the counter, she's always trying to grab the lead,
and added to all that she can't even ******* read!
(I'm surprised you can read this actually.)
But i'll overlook these foibles, her flaws aren't yet that drastic
she has to merge some yang in there to be so yin fantastic!
Ahh, in this life where what was can no longer leave a reflection
it's always super to feel the natural flow of connection;
glowing with simplicity
our joyous synchronicity!"
So i approach the door of The Wellspring and feel sweet and glad
and think, "you know for a Monday you aint turned out too bad!".
Tad of context, Wellspring is a homeless shelter place I work at, obvs I don't really think they are all tramps, just fun for the lols of the poem!
Mike Hauser Jul 2016
I think when all is done and said
I could use a nap
How many by a show of hands
Like me are down with that

I feel like I am zombiefied
One of the walking dead
Just need a simple place where I
Can lay this weary head

If I'm forced to do one more lap
In this crazy daily race
Where I take this longing nap
Will be my final resting place

How many like me do you think
By a show of hands
In all honesty do belive
They too could use a nap
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
it's exactly 2 weeks from my hiatus in
a homogeneous society -
   away from an internet connection -
alcohol free -
           and i've come to realise one
thing above all others:
       multiculturalism is...
   ******* exhausting.
                       i can play the "******"
whitey yo-yo all i can among fellow
***** morphed into fully grown
     beings -
                     problem is,
     i don't know if i'm more an outsider
among fellow men, or among the populace
of this, fair country -
     mind you, the only reason that the english
seem to have "tact" in disputes concerning
the fate of europe...
    englishmen are fakers...
              great at acting i must admit -
what was always going to help keeping
a serene face and mindful language?
   la manche - ärmelkanal -
                  english society is an exhaustion -
too much vibrancy is always a lodged
fudge blob in my head...
                for all the celebratory days -
i admit to keeping at least one day of
mourning, me, usually coming back
from the sedative of a homogeneous society...
    my complete immersion in but one
tongue...
not seeing a sikh turban, a black skin,
skimming on the flavours of chine -
     just plain old sauerkraut (apparently
cabbage is a funny word in urdu -
but i still mind asking the turk to add
some sourness to the sheer of lamb in
a kebab) -
                  and, my god,
pickled herrings, raw,
that famous alternative that is,
                 baltic "sushi".
                            - but i'm afraid that
the english would be double their usual
awkwardness in a homogeneous society,
so bland, so un-tropical,
              so... familial?
             in a country where you can pretty
much say what the ******* want,
even with the already ridiculous
religiosity and overt testament of:
   on sunday we don't work...
    not much different to france or germany
mind you...
    only the english run out basic ingredients
akin to milk or flour on a sunday...
mind you, whenever i walk into a supermarket
there are these zombies walking about...
i go in and know what i'm after...
   after... surrounded by these *******
   friendly, zombiefied, tourists...
           that isn't to say i frequent the english
society as such,
         my experience began and ended
with the catholic irish in school,
  and then some disorientated farmers
at university...
       Derby? a complete *******.
                    'hey matt', one of the few people
that uses my name is a supermarket cashier...
it's not that i mind skins, colours,
fashions,
what gets under my skin is the way in which
linguistics has become a sort
of zoology -
                 caged words in limbo of f&%£!
            does not really equate to anything
in the study of etiquette or is it simply,
   a statement that has aesthetic appeal?
                           at least the word
kurva (i made sure the W was missing so
you could veer into the sharpening)
   is treated as a conjunction rather than
            blushing guise of cameo in a language;
language ought to be a river -
      not when sea meats shoreline -
flow... flow... flow...
                   if everyone started to not muck
about with respecting the rules of
congeniality, if everyone just had that blank
canvas space to vent out but more importantly
inhibit frustrations...
                 for all the cares for a freedom of
speech: some things are better left unsaid.
                why?
         well... in all honesty, this fervent defence
of the defence of free speech,
  has made all thinking into a gluttonous bowl
of **** mixed with custard!
              whatever happened to the ultimate
freedom of all? the freedom to think?
               thought it dying a painful death
of necessitating keeping a freedom that's
   beneath it, in stature, or status...
      thinking has morphed into the most
inappropriate fear:
                                  claustrophobia,
or as some like to prefer, in calling it
by the nick of: cognitive constipation...
just to compliment the already vacant term:
intellectual ******* -
           better being a jerking off than
     scared of occupying your own, frickin' 'ed.
- but like i said, english society is breathtakingly
exhausting...
           i sleep like a baby in a bed
where my great-grandmother died...
   overlooking a graveyard...
               - and i replace writing with
puritanical deep-sea diving into books...
      actually, that's the only time when i really
read something...
                and the grand effort always
pays off...
                   no book is ever abandoned,
however tedious -
                          i care to arrive at the conclusion
of: perhaps "hangover" in the reading -
but raucously "drunk" upon completion -
even after a year -
          no book is worth being stranded
in the purgatory of lost fancies and aspirations...
movies are different...
         there's always the toilet or cigarette
break to get off easy on making excuses;
           how could anyone finish watching
gone with the wind is beyond me...
  i'd accept the stretch of film akin to
   ben-hur or cleopatra,
  in the latter case the Octavian monologue:
lord anthony is dead!
                the soup is hot, the soup is cold,
is that how one says it?
         lord anthony lives, lord anthony is dead...
shame on you for saying such words
lightly!
               his name has an echo chamber
in the urn of eternity!
               yeah...
   life in english is exhausting simply because
you find yourself with a **** & custard's
worth of thinking left in your while
walking on egg shells...
           pretending to defend a freedom of
  the waggling tenner -
penny for your thought,
                tenner for your talking;
     which is not worth the bother these days,
perhaps the mad had always dreamed of
castles in the clouds...
    but unlike the mad:
  i'm thinking of making my mind a labyrinth.
Dougie london Feb 2013
Pressure every where I go
Will I succeed or have nothing to show?

I don't want to fail in my fathers eyes
The look he gives when he is betrayed  inside

Father tells me to be a recruit
I don't want to be one of the man coming home like a zombiefied stoop

He  says money will make you happy
But if he really knew poetry makes me happy

He doesn't think English is a good major
So I might join the army and do him a favor

Father doesn't know I will live life in regret
If I make him proud he wont sense that im upset

Father just wants the best for me
He doesn't realize that I only know whats the best for me

Should I live an unhappy life and fight?
Or should I stay and live a regular life?

Father wants me over seas
I want to be between my love ones knees

Father says have a career in the army
Im on the path to have a wife and a family

He says women come and go
I only want one woman and I want her to stay for good

He says you will see the world
But I might have to **** innocent souls

What father wants is usually what father gets
So what should change with this show
Mike Hauser Oct 2018
Living in a world of zombies
With people passing by
Looking straight ahead no turning of heads
No contact of the eye

With a blank stare on their faces
Some give off the slightest of growls
No matter the day no matter the place
Not a one of them gives off a smile

Shuffling of feet on their way to greet
Another day of doom and gloom
In this state of zombiefied they'll never find
A sunny afternoon

As they move about downcast eyes with a frown
Can't they see they could be free
Instead of this state of hating each day
In this crazed world of zombies
Mike Hauser Jul 2020
Back in the day when I was seventeen
Most of me was wrinkle free
Had a full head of hair that's now switched to my ears
I even think I had a memory

Way back when in my younger days
I could stay up way past late
Now I'm lucky most the time if I make it to nine
Otherwise I'm  zombiefied  all the next day

Back in the day when I was seventeen
I had eyes that could clearly see
Now with glasses on I struggle to see what's going on
Even if it's right in front of me

Way back when in my younger days
When I was fit and trim without all this weight
Now I can barely bust a move tying my own shoes
To even think to make it to the starting gate

Back in the day when I was seventeen
That I'd end up this way was never on my screen
Old as dirt where every inch of me hurts
This I never dreamed when I was seventeen

— The End —