badwords

badwords 4d

To leave this small town, I would dare,
If courage found its way to me.
A wasteland's blue and brown despair,
Cogs turning, struts of industry.

For years I toiled, for years I ran,
The pace relentless, never slowed.
Yet once again, here I began,
Back at the end of the road.

badwords Dec 18

Curation

A careful hand, threading tracks like beads—
Each song a thread, a whisper's need.
A heart's collage of static noise,
Crafted hopes, hushed joys and poise.

The clack of play, the tape unwinds,
A story spooled in stops and binds.
“Listen,” it pleads, though words are few,
This mix, this bridge, from me to you.

In loops and fades, confessions spun,
The things unsaid, yet softly sung.
A borrowed voice, an unseen tear,
Echoes bound by magnetic smear.

Pressed to palm, the gift exchanged,
A quiet pact, a world arranged.
Between the hiss, in tapes grown worn,
A fleeting now, forever sworn.

Check out my HePo mixtape:

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/

A soundscape in words, lyrics and music that have shaped my writing.

badwords Dec 12

Reflections in Reverse

Two mirrors poised, a fragile thread,
Where futures breathe and pasts are fed.
We step ahead, the glass refracts,
A backward echo, worlds react.

Choices bloom like sparks in night,
The antiverse adjusts its flight.
Every move, a tethered strain,
An unseen hand rewinds the chain.

We carve the path, we break the line,
Yet shadows shift to realign.
Forward strides in time’s embrace,
Backward whispers trace our place.

What freedom lights, the mirror bends,
To hold the balance fate defends.
A dance of echoes, push and pull,
Our boldest step, their gentle lull.

In cosmic halls where stillness shatters,
Symmetry bends, yet never scatters.
We change, we tilt, the tether quakes,
The antiverse rewinds mistakes.

And so we march with fleeting grace,
While mirrored pasts adjust their pace.
Two worlds entwined, one thread, one curse—
Forever bound, reflections in reverse.

Synopsis:
In the delicate equilibrium between the universe and its mirrored counterpart—the antiverse—our choices ripple beyond the boundaries of forward-moving time. Every step we take in the universe demands a mirrored recalibration in the antiverse, an intricate dance that ensures symmetry holds. But this symmetry comes with a moral obligation: a responsibility to honor the self that exists in reflection.

As we pursue desires, make decisions, and forge paths in the universe, the antiverse bends and backpedals to accommodate these actions. Our mirrored selves are burdened by the weight of choices we often make without reflection. If we act recklessly, we impose disorder on the mirrored timeline. If we betray our principles, we leave our antiverse counterpart to repair the damage—a silent architect reconstructing the balance we’ve disrupted.

This dynamic demands that we approach our decisions with intentionality and care. To act with integrity in the universe is to respect the mirrored self in the antiverse—a self that exists as an echo of our intentions, constantly striving to preserve a fragile harmony. Every choice we make isn’t isolated; it reverberates in reverse, tethering us to an obligation we cannot see, but which is essential to the continuity of existence.

The moral question becomes:
What do we owe to the self that mirrors us?
In honoring our better judgment, we protect not only our own path forward but also the delicate reality that adjusts behind us. To live without consideration is to shatter the reflection. To live thoughtfully is to ensure that both we—and our antiverse selves—thrive in tandem.

For in the end, we are bound together, two selves in two times, forever balancing the echoes we create.

badwords Dec 12

The Quiet Fracture

Change is not the butterfly’s wing,
Not the grace of fluttering spring.
It is the chrysalis, dark, confined,
A violent unraveling, flesh redesigned.

It whispers through cracks, silent and slow,
Infiltrates walls where no banners glow.
No trumpets, no riots, no fiery screams,
Just shadows eroding the edges of dreams.

For revolutions burn with a blinding light,
But their embers fade in the cold of night.
Heroes fall, their voices decay,
Ideals scatter like ash, blown away.

Yet water will creep where stone resists,
Freeze in the fractures, expand with a twist.
It breaks the façade without sounding alarms,
Silent as whispers, yet deadly in arms.

The status quo guards its gilded throne,
Fearing the seeds that are quietly sown.
Change knows this—so it moves in disguise,
A patient assault beneath watchful eyes.

Let others charge with their banners unfurled,
Change burrows deep in the heart of the world.
For only the subtle, the patient, the sly,
Will fracture the walls and let falsehoods die.

A response to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4909023/change-is-inevitable/

Counter-Argument: The Brutality of Change
Change is lionized as a graceful metamorphosis, but that ignores the violence of the process itself. The narrative of the butterfly glosses over the brutal disintegration inside the chrysalis. The caterpillar doesn’t simply sprout wings; it dissolves into primordial soup before reconstituting itself. If the cocoon were transparent, we’d recoil at the grotesque transformation, not celebrate it.

In human societies, meaningful change is no different. It is rarely welcomed. It disrupts power structures, shatters norms, and demands discomfort. The status quo exists because it protects entrenched interests—those who benefit from stability will fight tooth and nail to preserve it. Public, bombastic attempts at change—revolutions, protests, upheavals—are met with suppression, co-optation, or decay. History is littered with revolutions that burned bright but died with their leaders, the ideals buried under the rubble of resistance.

True, lasting change does not trumpet itself. It works quietly, subtly, infiltrating systems from within, eroding the foundations of the status quo without announcing its presence. Like water seeping into cracks and freezing, expanding slowly until the structure fractures, this kind of change avoids the spotlight to minimize resistance. It respects the reality that people fear disruption and will reject it whenever possible.

When change does erupt publicly, it is often romanticized in hindsight. The Civil Rights Movement, the French Revolution, the Arab Spring—these are remembered for their ideals, not the blood, betrayals, and setbacks that defined their execution. Even when change succeeds, it carries the scars of the struggle, and the ideals are often compromised before they solidify.

The truth is: change is ugly. It is rejected, dismissed, and fought against. Only through patience, subtle infiltration, and persistence does change sometimes outlive the people who champion it. The quiet subversion of norms is more enduring than the loud explosion of revolutions.

badwords Dec 11

Plastic Castles

They built it bright, a sterile gleam,
A castle made of plastic dream.
A hollow cheer, a brittle cheer,
To soothe the wound and mask the fear.

They offered tales of tidy grace,
Of heroes' smiles and soft embrace.
A ribboned truth, a candy lie,
To pacify, to pacify.

“Look away,” the voices purr,
From streets where shadows still confer.
Where rusted chains refuse to break,
And lives are lost for comfort's sake.

They preach of joy “just waiting there,”
As if despair were just thin air.
As if injustice fades away
If we just wish, if we just pray.

But plastic cracks beneath the sun,
Illusions melt, the seams undone.
What good are dreams that flee and wilt,
When castles stand on rot and guilt?

The optimist, a gentle fraud,
A balm for those who never ****.
Who sip on hope, a fragile brew,
And think that myths are somehow true.

Yet fires rage where truth won’t bend,
Where hollow comforts cannot mend.
No glossy page, no fairy dust
Can heal a world that’s built on rust.

So burn the plastic, tear it down,
Face the ashes, face the frown.
For only truth, unvarnished, raw,
Can light the way, can break the flaw.

No stories glossed with empty bliss—
The work awaits, and it is this:
To strip the lies, to crack the mold,
And forge a world that’s just and bold.

A response to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/347392/the-optimist/

badwords Dec 10

Stoic

The stone declares, “Hold fast, control your fate,”
A chiseled law for those who shape the world.
The stream replies, “Let go, dissolve your weight,”
A whispered path for lives by tides unfurled.

Stoic halls where reason’s fire refines,
Echo virtue bound in marbled walls.
The mind commands; the passion intertwines,
Elites emboldened, rising as it calls.

They frame their fate, a measured, polished sphere,
Where wealth’s a tool, a blade to carve the will.
"Accept your lot," they chant, suppressing fear,
While thrones are kept, and empires gather still.

But far beyond the markets paved in stone,
A quiet voice dissolves the weight of kings.
The monk renounces all he might have known,
The sage dissolves ambition’s tethered strings.

Where fields are bare and hunger twists the night,
They find release in letting go of need.
For wealth becomes a root that binds too tight,
And freedom blooms in lives content, unfreed.

Taoists trace the river's winding course,
Through simple days, where power fades to mist.
While Stoics, gripping reason’s iron force,
Find virtue shaped in clenched and steady fists.

One path preserves the marble's ordered sheen,
The other flows where hierarchies decay.
Both seek the calm where thought and truth convene,
Yet split their means to master or obey.

The stone resists; the stream absorbs the fight,
Two faces turned to meet the world’s demands.
One carves a throne within the flood of might,
One lets the current slip between their hands.

In plenty, virtue girds the gilded gate,
In want, release unchains the spirit’s worth.
Two paths arise to reconcile with fate—
One bends the self, the other frees the earth.

A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4931782/stoic-virtue/

*'Stoic'* is a philosophical poem that contrasts two distinct approaches to navigating life’s challenges and societal systems. Drawing from Western Stoicism and Eastern thought (Buddhism and Taoism), the poem illustrates the tension between the disciplined, controlled mindset of Stoicism and the flowing, adaptive nature of Eastern philosophies.

Through imagery of stone (symbolizing rigidity, control, and virtue within hierarchy) and stream (symbolizing fluidity, surrender, and liberation from constraints), the poem explores how these worldviews respond to abundance and scarcity. Stoicism empowers the elite by advocating self-mastery and ethical responsibility within existing structures, while Eastern thought offers pathways for the disenfranchised to find peace through renunciation and simplicity.

The poem underscores how both philosophies seek inner peace but diverge in their methods: one reinforcing order and duty, the other embracing non-attachment and natural harmony.

Artist’s Intent
The intention behind *'Stoic'* is to examine how philosophical systems are influenced by the socio-economic conditions in which they arise. This piece aims to distill the core wisdom of Western Stoicism and Eastern philosophies while highlighting the implicit power dynamics each supports.

The stone represents the Stoic path, where individuals—often in positions of power—strive for virtue through rational control and acceptance of their societal role. The stream embodies the Eastern perspective, where liberation comes through relinquishing attachments and flowing with life’s natural rhythms, offering solace to those constrained by societal hierarchies.

By using tight pentameter and vivid contrasts, the poem seeks to balance the structural discipline of Stoicism with the fluidity of Taoism and Buddhism. The goal is not to judge one philosophy as superior but to reveal how each serves different needs based on context: one for managing power responsibly, the other for transcending systemic oppression.

Ultimately, *'Stoic'* invites readers to reflect on their own relationship with control, freedom, and the systems that shape their lives.

badwords Dec 10

NO MORE HAIKUS!

Dead Poet, the name.
'Anarchy', the guise of change.
'Rebel re-run'? Same...

In response to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4932312/her-breath/

How "Avant Garde" Mr. 'RA-RA-RA'... A a tired and overused and culturally appropriated, entirely arbitrary and completely limited in it's structure. When 'Boring needs to ratchet the dial up to 'THREE!" The poor sad abused and molested Haiku is number one for the poetic equivalent of having DoorDash simply deliver you a work for lack of effort to be wrought.

#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4857198/obligatory-haiku/