text:
The human skin can be hard to live in,
That's why most of us tear it.
And I, my loves,
Am a hypocrite
I tell you not to tear such precious, innocent skin
While late at night
I hold my blade
And carve it in.
I like to push oh so hard.
Only to get the adrenaline
of seeing the blood and make sure I am still alive
Though I feel as if I'm not at all alive anymore
I'm a zombie
living in the palest of skin
And if your lucky
I'll let you in.
It doesn't happen often
But for some it may
Those lucky few
Will be dismayed
For I seem like a bright ray of sunshine
In this dark dark world
But jokes on you
I'm the darkest of them all.
Today as I went home,
even if I'm with my friends, I feel so alone
thinking of you made me feel so blue,
for you love her and I'm in love with you
this heartache makes me want to cry
but instead of tears, I express it with a sigh
for I don't want them to see
that I'm crying, because I'm falling for you badly
"it's just a little crush" that's what I say
but it's making a big hole, when I see you everyday
for when I follow your stare, it lead to her
and sometimes, I feel like tears are going to make my vision blur
I know it's pathetic, but when you talk to me
I feel so pleased and happy
but still, I know that you're not going to love me
cause, your heart belongs to her completely
you're just a fantasy
and you'll never love me in reality
I know that someday, you're just going to be a memory,
that I will remember when I'm lonely
but, someday is not yet today
it still is far, far away
but, I wish you'll notice anyway,
that my heart is breaking
and even though I'm smiling
just look in my eyes
and you'll see that I'm dying
This is not me
I've never been here
it's someone else you see
this is not me.
I want to say goodnight to you but few if any know,and those who did have flown away,do you want to stay and listen to someone who does not know if you are there,
do you even care that I am here?
I fear you don't and so I won't be saying goodnight
in any case
I shall sleep tight
locked inside the darkness of my lonely night.
in the middle of the night
wide awake
wrapped in wool blanket
i walk out my door
into my dark wood
the heavy snow fall
has stolen all sound
as i stand
flakes melt on my cheeks
you are somewhere
like me alone
with only thoughts
whispering softly
stealing sleep
IT's amazing to me
To see how content you can be
Walking through life making a mess
With your decisions in every step
Colliding with others minds, hearts & lives
Constantly contributing
To the fire that burns bridges
With caution to the wind
You didn't even ask me when or why
I have scars that I can't hide
Because you don't care enough to see the person I am
What I struggle with or what is hidden
As far as we got was only far enough
To find out you're boring in bed
What only matters to you is what you can be given
As you share your life story everyone listens
And I'm the only one not dumb enough to know
How well you put on a show
You believe we are all oh so privileged
So oh, what an accomplishment!
You never even asked if it was what I wanted
So to the girl you're dating now I hope she knows you better
And gets what she is expecting
Because if she knows you like she better
She knows how much she will be getting from you
And how very much so she will be disappointed.
Why can't we see beauty
In all things that die?
Is it because we are afraid
Of saying goodbye?
We see art in the leaves
That fall in the autumn
But they are dying
Descending to the bottom
And we pick flowers
For the ones we adore
And the life in that flower
Cannot be restored
So why do we see beauty
In only some things that die?
Maybe it will always be a mystery
And we'll never know why
No it is not you who is not good enough
for maybe it is me,
I don't deserve someone with
that big of a smile,
or eyes that shine like puddles in the Sahara.
Maybe it is I who does not deserve your kisses,
maybe it is I who does not deserve your kind stares
and your sweet text messages
maybe it is I who does not quite fit in the key hole.
maybe it is I who is the broken piece of glass from your heart made of mirror,
maybe it is I who does not deserve the butterflies or the
heart ache, or the tears of joy.
maybe it is I who deserves scar painted arms,
maybe it is I who deserves the emptiness you feel,
maybe it is I who deserves to fill you up
maybe it is I who does not have any worth.
Maybe it is you, who could make me feel like I do
it comes in wave
more so than
anything i've put in my system
a brutal break
terrible kick
incapacitated by addiction
time went by
fooling myself
you went your way i went mine
but life don't let
you off so easy
fighting that tingle in the spine
counting down
pending relapse
thought myself further than i am
i'll avoid meeting
end hiatus greetings
but i'm only humbly a man
stronger now than ever
mind and soul
in confidences i now stand
you'll float on in
just like i've dreamt
but it's me who'll have the upper hand
Throwing up will make you beautiful
After all, beauty is pain
Waxing every square inch of your human body
Squeezing into those Spanx to hide your smallest flaws
Your daughter, she needs help with her eating disorder
There's no beauty in that. Strictly pain.
Or telling your 20 year old best friend everyday for 6 years a size 3 isn't anywhere neat fat
Having the same conversation with a 10 year old girl: is that any more beautiful? No.
Forget that beauty isn't painful
A mother experiencing excruciating pain yet forgetting it all when she holds her child for the first time
Death of a man with terminal illness--all the pain built up to the soul finally at ease
The battered woman seeking courage to break free and begin new life
Actual emphasis to "beauty is pain" is one who pushes through the undesired struggle-- beauty is the reward
Remember that beauty can be painful
What's beautiful in your life?
Waiting for the train come
It was peak time
The train station was packed like sardine packed
Full of workers hoping to go back home to their families
All the sweats they have given out on that day
Was it all worth it?
Standing besides the railway
Fantasizing, imagining
If i jump will anyone help me?
Will anyone pull me out of the railway?
Small lights catched my eye 1km away
Oh there's the train coming!
Everyone was colliding and pushing each other to get into the train
Because you don't want to miss the train
It was near dawn, everyone wants to go back before dawn approaches
They would do anything to get in
I was bumped into a guy, he was sweet
And then things get so awkward in the train
I was seating infront of the guy
It was one of the moments I would like to escape from
But not long after that, we hopped off at our station
Heading back home
And until now, I could never forget his face :)
He was for long on the river sailing since sunrise
When under afternoon clouds the hamlet caught his eyes
Wearied by the sojourn to that land a faraway call
The green beckoned to rest his oars for a leisurely stroll.
He sat under a banyan to heal his limbs of pain
Darker grew the clouds the winds hinted rain
His heart too was aching the heart of a lonely man
For he had left behind his sweetheart his beloved woman.
It's not known if clouds swelled in his dreamy eyes
His mind was too obsessed for the Empire's rise
There he stood on the riverbank an alien on another's soil
That he must till to build a kingdom paying with sweat of toil.
He remembered his three children their skin's blended tan
Their rustic eyes reflecting their mother the one his woman
He reminisced under banyan shade how he fell in love with her
Only if he were a little late she would've been burned at the pyre.
The man loved that sleepy hamlet built there a factory
The trade post became a city earned place in history
The river still meanders laden with the tears of pity
That swelled in his eyes for the woman he saved from suttee.
He saved an Indian woman from Suttee, married her and had three children with her.
Each night the little girl builds a fortress of pillows and blankets to protect herself from the irrational fear and the very real nightmares that overtake her in the darkness. She forgot to build that fortress last Friday night...and left the extra pillows on the floor and the bear she sleeps with in a chair. The above facts were brought to my attention the next night as the hus was heading to bed. As typical, he exits the man-cave and stands in the hallway and announces that he is going to bed (as though I'm unable to see him?). Then he says, as he says every night, "Come hold me?"...knowing that I will say, "Sure, I'll be right there." but 'right' really represents several hours... Last night there was a slight deviation to our nightly verbal exchange as he said, "Last night you didn't build your fortress and I don't know what was going on but I woke up at 2:30am and I had like 6 inches of space in the bed because you were so close to me." Hum...I guess I took the "come hold me" phrase seriously on Friday night.
I don't know why the deviation from my normal set up...but I do know that there is this desperate little girl inside of me who longs to be held, but other, more 'grown-up' parts inside of me who know we're supposed to be beyond that now and it will never be - nor will they ever allow that to happen.
I also know that a lot of the time it's difficult for the hus to understand where I am and what's going on with me...I can't even begin to explain it to him when I often don't know myself. So I tend to air on the side of "quietness" in my communication with him too. In other words, I don't often take off the mask in front of him, or ask him for help. Part of me feels bad for him…I recognize that's it's difficult to have a relationship with someone with my history, and I can be more than a handful (understatement...understatement...) and it isn't easy for anyone to stick with 'us' through the bad times...the really bad times. I get that - and not just with him.
That's why I pull away instead. It's difficult enough for me to deal with all the different and conflicting parts of me - how can I expect anyone else to do it with me? The one who aches for reassurance and care, the one who sabotages any attempts to act like a sophisticated adult with her fears and desperate and confusing needs. The one who aches with the desire to be loved, saved, fixed…on a never-ending search for something to make her feel whole, safe, "unmolested". The sophisticated adult…the professional cold grown woman who hides her insecurity by pretending to be self-confident...some even call her 'stuck-up'. The party girl who can only react to situations with humor and laughter even in the most inappropriate times. The little girl who desperately wants to be held safely by someone who will not hurt her.
How can anyone else get through to all of that? I can't do it and believe me, I've tried.
Today, the sophisticated adult is holding steady at the helm...on 'therapy' day, which typically means she will act as though everything is great with the world, even though inside, everyone else is screaming and suffocating under the weight of the fear...sadness...anger...shame... hopelessness. And it is virtually impossible to break through that exterior because she holds the key to lock others out...particularly the therapist because she needs no one, and that holds double for someone who told the 5 year old to "deal with it" because she is busy...and "make another choice since it's after 10 and the closed sign is out"...after being there way after 10 for the little girl for 2 years.
And then, late tonight, when the wind howls, and the snow begins to fall, and the coldness seeps inside of this body and weaves its way up my spine, the desperation will begin, followed by the crying...then the overwhelming fear and hopelessness that will be unrelenting and she will be inconsolable until she cries herself into a restless sleep and wakes up tomorrow with a migraine and swollen red eyes.
You might be thinking, "Nita, if you KNOW that's what's going to happen then can't you stop it? Can't you make a different choice and let the therapist try to help you?"
I don't know why it all seems so out of my control - I can watch it play out but I cannot intervene or stop it. I wish I could...she won't let me use the key either to unlock the door.
Rules, policies and conflicts imprison you.
Protest and righteousness freed you.
In America, we called it segregation.
Twisted words of countries like South Africa called it Apartheid.
Separation of the races accepted as legal at a certain time.
What about injustice that makes ANY race feels correct?
But like that old saying goes, things changes with time.
Which Nelson Mandela you eventually saw within your life time.
It's always those that faced the harshness of trouble that's the most forgiving.
And many of times, it's the innocent prisoner.
You led.
While holding onto no grudge.
You stood strong against those that refused to change.
In America that's still a familiar ring.
Ghandi, King and others fought with words.
Similar to the qualities and traits of our Lord Jesus.
It's always the peacekeepers that showcase the hate.
While the supporters of wars stay quiet silently supporting the crime.
So, so long Nelson.
God's waiting for your soul.
You serve your purpose.
You serve your goal.
Nelson Mandela, son of the motherland.
You will always be remember, as a good man.
I could stare at this notepad for hours and still have no idea what to say, what to write down and spill with ink. There are so many words, phrases and lovesick requests floating around inside of my head but none feel adequate enough, for you.
What would happen if I let it all out? All that my tongue has struggled to repress and hold back, what if I released it and allowed it all to spill out of my mouth? Would you crumble under the weight of these heavy words I've kept to myself?
Would you be crushed under lines like, "I lied when I said I didn't blame you for this, it's your fault I turned out the way I did." or confessions such as, "I wish she didn't exist, wish you'd stop loving her, I wish you never did." I wonder if you'll still be standing when these words fall from my mouth uncontrollably, "I loved you so long and so secretly but now I'm left feeling bitter and violently angry. I want to hurt you, I want to hurt you like you've hurt me." I wonder if your legs would give out once I've let all that out, if you don't fall to the ground than you're stronger than I thought you were,
Still these secrets pour out of me like
pathetic lovesick word vomit.
"I wish I never met you, you ruined my life and for that I won't forgive you." My life isn't better for knowing you and I lied when I said you made me a better person. I'll smile as I watch your knees buckle, as the guilt crushes you and you're just as broken as I am. I'll watch until it becomes painful to breathe with that pressure on your chest and I'll smile as it caves in with every single breath.
I wonder if you'll finally start to feel some regret.
All my love letters have turned into seething pages full of bitter sentences and words lacking tender emotions, they're as cold and black as the ink they were written in. Those letters are just as cold as this heart which pains me still, it feels as frozen as the one you refused to give.
I have no time left for this, not even for one more, "I love you ---." Sorry honey, if you throw me a syringe I'll lie and fake it some more while injecting this poison which flows straight to my heart. I'll smile and tell you all that I once meant and now don't, you should have listened each time I said them before.
Go ahead, grab your spoon--
Baby, now it's your turn.
A hand around a cold, dead, arm
waning fragile and thin
Impressions of fingers on flesh,
twisted, crooked, bent
Across railroad tracks this sack is
dragged, heaved, yanked-
Like saddlebags;
you walk with dead bodies attached to your hips
You still have yet to question this
I wonder though, if you did,
would you see how much dead is attached to me?
Everyone has a Past
and like Death, it asks to stay
Asks you to hold it's hand along the way
To help it across mountain peaks and swamp trenches
This thing, it even asks to sit with you on park benches
There are a thousand empty wooden pews, but still,
you let it sit, and this,
this is where it will not quit
-Yanking still, across garbage piles and sidewalk cracks,
it even begins to ride piggyback
Again, you don't question
What do you see?
Nothing, darkness, it's numbed you,
blinded you physically
It builds it's palace atop your spine,
and evermore straddles between lines of harm and lie
Breathing in pure battle cry
Written in Atlanta, Georgia.
I wait as patient as a man of age can be
I do not know just what I expect to see
I sleep the sleep of a painful aging soul
knowing it is far too late to be whole.
The world I know is trembling badly
I hold on tightly with my heart beating madly.
I would dance to one more lonely song
but being old all my steps would be wrong.
Maybe I will be luckier the next time
or maybe be a beggar clutching his last dime.
Tomorrow just remains unknown and blank
but the smell of impending death is rank.
Will I be the lucky one and skate on thin ice
or will I be the one that pays for all his vice
That is what tomorrow holds for me
so I will simply have to wait and see.
Time heals everything
Hate turns to love
To realize you had something
Time turns a gun to a dove
I'm sorry's are pushed away
Even though you want it more than anything on earth
Apologies are full of grey
I'm sorry's no longer have any worth
I was compared to a simple, deadly car crash
Was told life could be a ride
Until I caused that bash
I was compared with a metaphor with very little pride
I took those five jobs
Chose work over love
I mimicked those snobs
I took that money thinking I was above
What I though I had is gone
But there is always hope
Love is not something to pawn
What I thought I had had now left me to mope
I woke up today
I just knew I didn't belong with you.
You always make be blue, I can't ever handle you.
My favorite memory I replay all the time.
Lying beneath the oak tree while your hand inter-wined with mine,
we were talking about our future,
turns out each one was just a little lie.
I don't want to see you anymore.
Get out of my life.
In the past I never did any good
Today I am changing the best I could
In the past I only loved my self
Today I am aiding every cry for help
It is amazing how things can change
One day you are a devil, Next day a saint
From Bad to Good we need to change
To make this world a better place
Golden charms bleed the stories
From the chains around her neck
Shiny links link life's inventory
And leave her blouse stained
Red, it does become her
She paints her lips, her wrists, her nails
Bloody veins the chains do capture
And leave her blouse stained
A life paved by skinned & bloodied knees
She tries to crawl out for survival
The chains they take one final squeeze
And leave her blouse stained
she welcomes my energy inside and gives me tea
calms my busy light without a single word
smiles at my bright aura
a tabby ginger cat purrs on a gingham cloth
blue Delft plates in a row
this was a time with no fuzzy
no noise
no waste
no haste
dimming of all goodness
a woman's head rolls on the fine sifting sand
dry and warm
a rapier juts forward, pierces the guts of an old man
who carries a child on his back
there's a red blanket what flies on the line
soggy and now, it's hard to tell whose blood drips so
an elongated horn is blown from a desert hill
nobody lives in the mountains of Miranda anymore
her ghost has found voice in the echo of the brambles
her secrets still buzz in heavy hives of long ago
discovered and ravaged by trusted traitors
now hanging in clusters, newly unfound
dried corpses also hang (unmolested) in bloodwood trees
where every trace of gall is let flow in kino
the blood of Miranda flows on
she of terminalis
lives on eternal
in brook and vale and bush
in veins of progeny-bee
and also
in the crickets of the field
To say I hate you
Would be a tremendous
10 words.
© Peyton 2013
I cannot fix the broken
I cannot fix your heart,
The words that are left unspoken
Will tear our souls apart,
There is no room for forgiveness,
No love in which to find,
You can try to collect the pieces,
But forever; you will not find.
Look at the hour glass,
Your time will be what's rued,
There's no way you can grasp
Onto what you put me through.
I'm not expecting you to understand this,
So I know you'll question why.
Ever since the first kiss,
You made me believe a lie.
I have vowed to no more eat that which harms,
And to the best of my abilities,
I do so.
I see no difference between the cat you pet
And the lamb you slaughter.
I see no difference between the dog you play with
And the calf you tear from its mother.
I see no difference between the pet birds in cages
And the male chicks thrown in the grinder at birth;
They will produce no eggs, we have no use for their lives.
I believe it is not the role of man
To deem whom should retain their lives
And whom should die for a moments self-gratification.
Vegetarianism is wonderful,
Every little bit helps; less humans eating meat,
means reduced CO2 emmissions
and less world wide poverty,
The grain that could feed a hundred hungry mouths
Is not used to produce single burger patty,
For a single peckish man.
But drinking the milk of a cow,
Eating cheese and eggs
All contributes directly to the meat industry.
Dairy industry is veal industry;
Dairy industry; milk, eggs, cheese all supports and prolongs the practice
Of killing and eating children.
You ask that we respect your choices;
but you do not understand that your "choices",
Your learned eating habits,
Your probing questions of "what do you eat then?!"
And your arguments of "But meat just tastes so good"
Are directly offensive to all we stand for,
And all we fight against.
To me, arguing that the taste of meat,
Makes the living conditions of these animals ok,
Is a kin to the argument that slavery is fine,
Because the work gets done quicker if you can use a whip.
It is a kin to the idea that rape isn't that bad,
Because it at least feels good for the rapist.
It is a kin to the comment that women are inferior,
Because men could beat them in a fist fight.
You will instantly think I am radical in my views,
You will try to brush them off as the rantings of a crazed vegan
Or you will stop reading
Because you really do not want to see what I have to say.
But I give you only the truth as i plainly see it.
If you must eat meat,
Hunt for it and kill it yourself,
Let it live a real life first,
And respect that for you to eat,
It has died.
What do you say to a man
Who has lost his heart
Because his dream of life
Was so torn apart.
What do you say to the flowers
Whose petals and odor so sweet
Left a man begging love
At her feet.
What do you say to the world
Where love and peace are so void
Of any connection with religion.
What do you say to the political king
Who rules with the mighty button
And dreams of everyone knowing
Who is Boss.
Well, I probably say zilch
And go my walkabout way,
Waiting until the day I will
Mark an x within a circle
And try again.
"Goodnight sweetie," my mom says as she turns out my bedroom light and shuts the door.
Instantly, my heart starts to race and I whisper "no, not the dark.
Please don't leave me alone with the monster."
I lay in bed clutching my little dolly with the blanket over my head as my vision blurs.
Even though my blanket is warm, I feel my body go pale and cold.
He's coming to get me, this is my final night
And no one will ever know how I died
I somehow hear the window unlatch over my hearbeat drumming in my ears.
I pull the blanket further over my head and try not to panic.
Keep it together, maybe he won't see you.
I hear the footsteps approach my bed.
My face is wet from tears and my whole body starts to shake.
There's a tug at the blanket and I know its all over.
"Goodbye mommy."
Im dropping my phone slow, no where to go, a provocative photo to, a dance in the snow, a kiss without ending, a night with a show, a shoulder with out crying, and gone to fast but forever slow, I'll hold you until our forever sunrise, and kiss away our rapture lies, you will hold onto me tight, and we'll holds until the end of the night
To miss you,
It is not a choice or an option.
It is a fate that was dictated on me,
For you my love.
My affection for you is intense,
And strengthen by our love bonds.
Connected through your heavenly heart,
That trembles me all the way up to bottom.
i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
Dear Heavenly Father, I have a confession to make.
For I have received yet another heart break.
She stole my heart, broke it in two,
Then said, "I'm no longer in love with you"
Father, why does she have to be this way?
Please tell her I don't want to hear what she has to say.
Father, for I have committed a sin,
That day when I let her in.
I want to forget her & what we once had.
All because she lied to me and made me sad.
Father, I am done playing her game.
I'm done with her handing me all the blame.
So if you would father, help me out,
And please show her what this is about.
For I still love her father
But she doesn't love me so don't even bother.
She said it was all a lie,
Father she made me cry.
I am weak but have to be strong
Father, what she did was wrong.
I know that now, I knew that then
Please father; get rid of these horrible women.
She used to control me father
Stop what things used to be.
I guess what we had was fake father.
This is the confession I had to make
She never loved me father.
So please don't even bother
I don't need someone to hold me tight
I was wrong & they were right
All I need is something that's not there father
All I needed was for her to care
Father I do not want to let her go.
But its time, and we all know.
Father, my confession may be sad, or a bore,
But my heart hurts so much more.
Pleases father take the pain.
Remember she once said I was a little insane.
Take away the scars caused by this knife.
Oh please father, just take her out of my life.
I miss her so much father.
I miss her kiss and her touch.
For I must leave father,
Cause no one will ever replace me as the babies father
This is my confession.
They all said she was 'my obsession'.
Father the time has come for me to stop needing her,
Now I believe them father.
Father I need some help down here.
Because you knew loosing her was my fear.
Now you've heard my confession, the one I had to make,
So please forgive her for her love, that was so fake
I don't know what more had to happen to push me over the edge
I was at the carnival and I had this vibe, this feeling
I thought I would see J
And low and behold, I did
It was really nice to see her and talk to her
I haven't seen her since May
Okay, this is the part where I get sarcastic
I was really nice to her......
With her boyfriend........
Holding hands........
And having their arms around each other
I don't know what hurt more:
Seeing her with him
Or knowing that she would never feel the same
She introduced me to him and I acted cool like I didn't care, even though it was really bothering me
I faked a really good smile
It hurt, but I got through
The best part was when she left, even though I hate to see her go
I didn't have to deal with guilt
I thought I'd be sick
I tried drinking something, but that made my stomach feel worse
Anyway, she waved and said bye to me
It was nice
She hadn't forgotten about me
He watches the school bus turn off and out of sight. He'd see Elaine get off at her stop with her sister and others. She didn't look up at him as the bus drew away. Preoccupied, deep thought, maybe. Some one had a called out, see you Frumpy. She didn't respond or didn't hear. That Tidy kid, probably; mouth on him like a horse. John walks up the side of the road towards the cottage. he thinks of her, her slow walk along the aisle, looking away from him. Shy probably after that kiss on the sports field, lunch time. Or annoyed. He doubted, shy more like. He sighs. Cars whiz by. Too fast. He wonders what she made of the kiss. Lips to lips, touching just on. Brushing soft. Didn't want to press on her. Hand on her arm, gently, holding. His other hand; what had that been? Touched her back, felt bra strap, just there beneath fingers. He enters the front gate, closes carefully. Click of metal lock. The garden has been freshly dug. His father dug yesterday, carefully, back into it, machine like. I helped, not really my scene. Did my bit. He opens the back door and enters in. His mother is at the wood stove, cooking dinner, dark haired, blue of eyes, flush of skin, heat and rush. He says his greetings; she asks of his day at school; he smells the cooking, smiles, passes by, and up the stairs to his room. He closes the door. Peaceful. He goes to the window and peers down at the garden. Small orchard of apple trees to his left, hedges surrounding. He sits on his bed, looks around the room. Few books by the window, boyhood favourites; Roby Roy, Treasure Island. Ivanhoe, others. A sheet of paper with a list of birds seen recently. Some unticked, rare. He hadn't expected to kiss her. Wasn't planned. He was just going to talk and get to know her. Better, more. Instead he kissed her lips. Brushed softly with his. Skin on skin. Exchange of juices. He licks his lips. Wonder if part of her is here still? He licks again. Tongue over lips, bottom, top. He picks up the list of birds. Unticked are rare. Did she touch him with her hands as he had her? He can't recall. Too suddenly done, unplanned. He felt her bra strap. Fingered it, briefly. The whole afternoon spent on thinking of her and the kiss and her lips. He sensed, when he drew her near to him, her breasts, cushiony, soft. Unintended. Some birds were from foreign climes. Unticked, but not forgotten. The book of birds is by his bed, well read, thumbed bruised. Something stirred in him when he kissed. A buzz along the wire of his nerves. Buzz in his groin. He turns the page over, birds ticked, more common, some more so. Odd that male birds had the beauty, females dull as mud. What did she think after the kiss? He had to go off as the bell rang across the sports field, needed to see what happened to him, as he kissed and after. Down below, dampish, unusual. In the boys' bog, he noticed damp stickiness, odd, unknown. All through afternoon lessons his mind was on her. Couldn't close her out. Lips seemed numb. Licks them now. Tongue over top and lower. Frumpish they called her, others. The glasses did her no favours. Her dark hair untidy, her eyes large and watery. Her lips partly open, teeth, smallish, white. Ears hidden by her hair, but just visible. She smelt of countryside: apples, hay, horses. She was shy, blushed after the kiss. As he had crossed the field, after the kiss, towards the school, his legs seemed jellied, wobbly. Tomorrow he would see her again, then what? Even on the school bus home, he avoided looking over his seat, to where she sat with her sister. He was tempted. Have a quick look, gaze casually, but he hadn't. Regrets now, too late. Should have. Just one peep. Goldfinch chattered almost the
all way home, sitting next to him, showing him cards, talking of school. Teachers. That teacher you like, that one who said, you'll be a writer one day? Yes, he had said. Been dismissed. Took kids home with him, in his lunch time, did things, they say. Oh, he had said, hard to believe, but there you go. All sorts. He'd not gone. Boys or girls? He had asked. Boys mostly, Goldfinch had said. A new teacher now. He should have looked and seen her. Her sister was loud and sparkled. Not his type. Kissed and then what? He puts the sheet of paper back. He takes some small binoculars off the shelf, and peers through the window. Scans the sky. Some one downstairs puts on the radio. His sister, probably, twisting the knobs, getting a station, music on and off, loud, soft. Elaine's nails, bitten down, ink-stained fingers. They played together the fingers. Nerves, twisting over each other. He noticed. Saw them. He was about to say about a butterfly he'd seen, over by the science lab, fluttering by. Fragile wings. Thin, God made, wonder they fly. Kissed her. Lips on lips. His heart thumped hard as a drum in a brass band. A blue tit over by the hedge. Two of them. Goldfinch, the bird, not the boy, was one of his favourites. Bullfinch, that too. He sensed her tongue as he kissed, tip of, not the whole thing. Some big boy had told him and others, one lunch hour, in the playground, about a girl he'd had, up in the woods, off the playing field. None had seen. Good quick go, the big kid had said, like entering a bloody cave it was, warm and hollow. A sparrow on the fence, two three of them. They sit and flutter wings. The big kid hadn't said what was quick or like a cave. The girl was bit of a slapper, the big kid had said. He puts down the binoculars, kicks off his shoes, and lies down on his bed. Closes his eyes. Eyes shut. Sees her, lips pursed, eyes open, large eyes like brown stones, through glasses. His lips make a kissing sound. Pretends to kiss again. Keeps his lips there. Not pressing, just touching, soft silk soft, hardly brushing, dust off a moth's wing soft. His heart thumps, he can feel it with his fingers, pressing. He wonders, odd for him, what she looks like, undressing.
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
Not like the ones we used to know
Where the hoods and robes are
making things all FUBAR
Those kooks dressed up white as snow
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
His uni underneath the tree
With his new Doc Martins
That he'll look smart in
To show his mentality
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
I'm glad it only is one night
With his new plaid shirt on
This racist moron
Who tree...has no coloured lights
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
What would he do if he just knew
The KKK man
Had better re-plan
His Christ....he was born a jew
I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, black or white, green or grey, red, brown and yellow. Have a wonderful Christmas Season, because it is Christmas after all.....and remember, this is just a poem, just fiction. I want a White Christmas, but, one with every colour of the rainbow treated equally, and hopefully some nice prezzies and a song or two by Andy Williams and Bing Crosby.
Bind the pieces with sun dipped silk
fill the cracks of my heart
with gold
until the veins branch like broken trees
with sturdy roots
They will need to dig in deep
for there is
wind in my body.
the birds fly away from the storm
and sing
don't forget
you have to fight just as hard to let go
as you do
to hold on
Her cold heart and December
Her eyes and hair,
As I remember, Burned amber
A story started on September
Her heart was warm, Mine is ember
Two years, As far as I remember
She was a perfect pretender,
She stabbed me next November
A morning fog of cold December
I believed, That's why,
I wasn't a pretender
That's why,
I bleed as far as I remember
That's why,
She's cold as every December
That's why,
I've got a roaring flame in my ember
love me with my scars and tears,
as sleep haunts mornings we never knew.
sweet kisses on my forehead
remind me of all these years,
not knowing what I'd been without you.
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.
I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
Such a tedious thing,
I sense our existence appears.
For my chest to breech to the sky,
A tightened blossom of whipping purity.
Then to sink towards such a vicarious engulfment of hell.
With each palpitating symposium,
My lungs waver.
To crust over,
and bless the,
upon gilded guffaws.
Perturbed of my ascension.
Or shall they sink,
Sallow under chagrined blasphemy,
My horridness inked upon
parchment seasoned skin.
Not but,
a child of bitter consideration.
I shall butter myself in ashes,
just to perceive myself a shadow.
For at dusk's beckon,
perturbed; to kiss the constellations.
Blemishes I conjured,
beneath a quavering lip,
a gentle crease of my nose.
I silence their whimpering of wrongdoings,
which I have failed to rupture.
To exhale,
in such a bubbling manner.
It gurgles at my lips.
Dribbles before me,
Whilst the sun blinks back a yawn.
Yet, upon a lunar serenade,
the talons which protrude from my veins,
writhes gruesome.
To my supposed
I see no anchor.
From them, to what lay before me.
To where I shall drift.
And good sir,
label my simplistic existence,
if you must.
Yet I shall soon die,
and so, you will too.
And by that flicker of seconds,
we should matter no more.
Depression is a weird thing because
You don't exactly know if you are.
If you have a cold, you sneeze you cough.
If you have migraines, your head hurts and you sleep,
But when you're depressed you…what?
Lack of life?
I'm not talking about the scientific definition here.
What happens when you're depressed?
You become anti-social?
The only thing you seem to care about is how you care about nothing…
Do you ever really know if you're depressed?
Or is it the people around you that know it.
Is it that girl that you never want to sit beside with in the cafeteria,
Or that boy that you called gay because of his hair or even better
That poor kid you always pick on for no particular reason.
Being depressed is not fair because
It's not a bad day.
It's more like a…bad life
When out of a clear sky, the bright
Sky over Japan, they tumbled the
death of light,
For a moment, it's said, there was
brilliance sword-sharp,
A dazzle of white, and then dark.
Into the cavernous blackness, as
home to hell,
Agonies crowded; and high above
in the swell
Of the gentle tide of the sky, lucid
and fair,
Men floated serenely as angels
disporting there.
Bottled up inside
Are the things I never said,
The feelings that I hide,
The lines you never read
You can see it in my eyes,
Read it on my face,
Trapped inside are lies,
Of the past I can't replace
With memories that linger,
And won't seem to go away,
Why can't I be happier?
Today's a brand new day
Yesterdays are over
Even though the hurting is not,
Nothing lasts forever,
I must cherish what I've got
Don't take my love for granted,
For soon it will be gone,
All you've ever wanted,
Of the love you thought you won
The feelings I have now
Won't disappear overnight,
But somehow, someway everything will be alright
I'm leaving now
To slay the foe
Fight my battles
High and low
I'm leaving parents
Hear me go
Please wish me luck today
I've grown my wings, I want to fly
Seize my victories where they lie
I'm going guys, but please don't cry
Just let me find my way
I want to see, and touch, and hear,
Though there are dangers, thoughts, and fears,
I'll smile my smiles, and wipe my tears
Please let me speak my say
I'm off to find, my world, my dreams,
Carve my niche, sew my seams
Remember as I sail my seas,
I'll love you all the way
If you'd just tell me that
you're happy I could leave you be
But you've reveled to me
your consistent sadness
You've let me see
the dark parts that I love
My lips are sore from
repeating the same words to you
My heart burns as if
I haven't expressed it well enough
I would love all thyn flaws forever
I would let you bury yourself in my soul
You could put your sadness there
and I could keep it cold
So many questions
I am ok without answers
for they may hurt worse
than ignorance
marvel at the complex-pattern
painting such a span of swirls
light-panels less than shimmer
in the afternoon shadows on the wooden kitchen-table
biggest fear - your leaving
beautiful summer-days lost in your eyes
oblivion dances like a wily-wench at hypnotising fire-licks
from our languid-bed, I'd lazy-feed you lox-on-crackers
and everything you liked
heaven never had it so good
woke up and you weren't there
where'd you go to?
no letter, no call.. for days
to overcome this fear
I brought in a b-i-g-g-e-r one
that used to drive me to serious-pitfalls in the past
off to the exotic pet-shop, my toes marched me
and I got one - very toxic thing on legs
without a natural terrarium
once home, I set it free
I set free.... my biggest fear
to blot out your absence
to overcome your presence
to forget you
it crawled around and made a home
while I hardly breathed nor slept
and moved about on ginger-steps
I kept feeling strands of your hair
in my sleep
on my cheek
inside my cry
and woke to moonlight bathed in sweat
I did not wash your pillow, after weeks now
I bury my face in olfactory-memory lingering
and pine for you, but I see your missing set of keys and..
/ scratch .. scratch /
I hear a sudden scurrying
heartbeat jumps out cage
eyeballs to the parquet-floor
I'm getting used to this new pet
and she doesn't mind my breathing
oh, I swear she's a brain-scanner
when she looks at me that way
like she can read me.. through and through
I dare not pet, I dare not touch... ohhhh no!
I leave her the daily-bowl of delicious, fresh worms
to find it empty in the evening
I guess, thanks for freedom.. of sorts
one day, I left the window open
as I jotted down some poignant thoughts
at my antique-escritoire
espied her legs upon the solar-sill
thought she'd be running... a leaver, too
but no..
she was sunning all her legs awhile
the season's changing.. leaves are falling
crackle of wind in the air
now, I'm making me some coffee in my silver whistle-pot
hot, solo beverage to calm my settling-mind
when.. ping-ping.. comes a text
lo and behold....
it is you...
delirium / delirium /
(I'm on cloud-nine... you're coming home tonight..
you love me so much, you say..
made a mistake..
you've got something big to share..
I've taken time to prepare a special-meal.. candles and all your faves
but must pop out quick to get some lox...)
I'm back now, got the stuff now
key in lock
but the door.. jammed by a weight.. of sorts
can't seem to push the darn-door open...
shoving hard, I see........
fear compounded by a minus
simply multiplied
S T - 4 dec 13
sub: fly
days fly by
on wing of trust
in rusty-daze
like murder driven samurai's & cerebral poisoned psychopaths we slay each other with words.
i choke you with my words and you hang me with yours, but we don't die.
instead all that pain lingers at the back of our eyes and it causes us to see red.
like sharp blades running through bruised skin from an injured soul, we silently dissect wounded minds. every one fights a battle.
s(words) are potent, carefully wield yours.
like lost swords in the wind.
im a samurai poet. i use words as oxygen to help you breath and by reading these words you breath again.
i use words as medicine to transfer positive energy to you, samurai reader.
im a samurai thug. im a lost blade in the wind.
i use words like Martin Luther King and set free, i. i set myself free with my own words, i can because im a writer.
words are freedom. words are captivity. words are destruction. words are peace. the tongue is mighty powerful.
i use words to tell dispirited women that their beautiful because they grew up with the idea that beautiful is factory made products. the idea of beautiful is you.
i use words to tell hurt men that they can cry because they grew up being told tigers don't cry. crying is human, and i was told tears are wisdom distilled.
i use words to tell the youth they can be themselves because they grew up thinking acting like a fake gangster is all there is to life. the world is bigger than that.
im a samurai poet. a samurai thug. these words are blades. thug life.
stay samurai cool.
escaping you was no easy task
my brain erupted with fear,
but when it came to facing you
your voice was all i could hear
"what are you doing darling?"
you whispered, so very close
i really don't want to be here
a face, too pale, for a ghost
my stomach, tied in knots
your waterfall eyes, began to grow
i am sorry, so very sorry
and then the tears, begun to flow
with small, paced footsteps
i turned to walk away;
to dive back into the ocean
darling, i cannot stay.
crazily chasing concocted crushes
however hasty high hopes
earnestly entangled erstwhile enthusiasm
left languishing limp lethargic
suddenly soundless stupidly selfish
every emotion enviously expectant
an abject apology absent
purposeful pleasure purportedly posed
unearthed unhealthy ungainly uncertainties
devouring devotion disgracing dogma
an accident awaiting arrival
I know that I love to little
I know that I can fake mostly anything
I can hear a song and know the lyrics in a snap
That I cut to feel something
That I'm complicated
I know that I only had sex with you so you'd stay
I know that your never coming back
I know that I'm really sad all the time
I know that I'm scared of being happy
I know that music can make me feel really good and smile and be okay for that 4 min song
I know that I really like what I have going with you
I know that I have a really hard time with sharing and showing my feelings
I know that somedays are really hard for me to be around
I know that when I cry I can't stop and it normally leads into something bad
I know that if I didn't have my mom I wouldn't be here as we speak
I know that I put to much pressure on myself
I know that change is good and I need to start letting it happen
I know that I over think to much
I know that it's really hard to write good things down about myself
I know that I'm trying and that's a start.
The corpse lied untouched,
In the crepuscular light,
her shadow enkindled.
Her kins stood panic-stricken.
Her fidelity was being questioned.
It was time now for the sun to set.
The birds were finding there way.
And the darkness was about descend like everyday
The shadows seemed to be taking over the grimaced faces
But she however,
Was trying to resurrect her soul.
This was the epitome of her infatuation.
But she had always been an Ailurophile,
Stargazing in the early winters eve
Someone sends me a message
Is that Venus I can see?
Yes I reply, not realising what had occurred
Miiles apart a split second in time
Both looking at the crescent moon
And the light in the sky
sometimes i feel like
sometimes i feel like i'm in a dream
but only sometimes
and it's foggy
it's hard to tell
maybe i'm awake and it's more clear than my usual dreams
but then
what if i'm dreaming
what if i'm not real
what if
is going on
and my brain goes in a million different directions
my handwriting is messy
so is my head, i guess
that's all
i guess
i don't know
my hands are just making words
this room is filled with a cloud
hey guys
my name is ally and i think
i may be dreaming
how about you
how are you
I guess there's only one solution
No ifs, ands, or buts
I can almost see the light
Before I've made the first cut
The first and last incision
Come true, my only wish
To solve all of your problems
Did you think I was so selfish?
I know what you're thinking,
"The girl who cried wolf."
I wish I could know what you were thinking
When you hear they found me swinging
Or drugged out on the floor
Or cut up in my bed
Or splattered on the walls
From a gun to my head
Or maybe a mix
I've always been one for theatrics
I'm just really tired
Of crying alone
Of everyone being too busy
Of everyone getting fed up
Of everyone leaving me behind
Of everyone not caring
Of everyone not being sympathetic
Of everyone for not listening
Of everyone for blowing me off
Of everyone for not returning the favor
Of everyone for everything
Of myself for everything
Of everyone for not believing
But I'll make you believe.
I am capable of anything.
I have more walls up than I ever had,
I think that's a good thing.
I needed a slap on the wrist,
a fresh perspective on reality.
There are worse tragedies in the world.
You have to pick yourself up,
and you got to keep going.
You have to find your place in the world,
and find your purpose.
You are so small,
so very small compared to the world.
Think of bigger things around you.
You are minuscule compared to the universe.
Suddenly you don't feel so big anymore,
you are small,
so very small.
The weight of the world
and your problems don't matter.
There isn't anyone crying for you
and no one cares.
It's not a perfect world
or a caring one.
It's every man for himself.
So go and cry,
go right ahead.
Because there won't be anyone
waiting for you to call them and
vent, and they won't be waiting
for you to come home to them.
You are alone.
It's not a dirty word,
or a sad one.
Depends on who you are
and how you interpret it.
Get up.
Go and do what you were meant to.
Life is too short to regret.
You're seriously going to let
one little thing stop you?
If that's true then you are
worth as much as you always
thought you were.
You are not nothing.
You are something.
Something good and gracious.
Something worth living for.
Something worth having.
I looking I your eyes... Their cold and colorless
I don't remember them that way, what changed?
What happened to those eyes full of shimmering stars... What happened to that heart that was once full of warmth... Now your cold and it hurts!
I know you still love me but you suffer!
I wish I can talk to you but the barriers we've put up are way too high! Be cold
My darling but once I'm gone trust me you'll regret everything and you'll cry tears of blood shed... But no matter what I still love you even thou I hardly know you anymore....
For an uncountable amount of years
I have struggled with personal progression
The demons of days past tread behind me
Softly enough to not be heard by anyone else
But loud enough to hear their voices in my head
They whisper
They say
"The loser"
They shout
"The butt of the joke"
They scream
For so long
I have wished for relinquishment
A way to get them out of my head
To break the bonds they hold
To feel like I am the one to succeed
The one who is fit
The winner
The teller of the joke
For once in my life
To not be the one who falls behind
Or just never made it all
I've turned down so much
In the presence of their influence
With the mark of adulthood approaching fast
The boy who's been bogged down
Has held this tension in his hands
Trying to find some catharsis
Trying to translate thoughts to words
Trying to create something of this internal chaos
To explore it's purpose
To know why
Every line I've written is a piece
To the puzzle that is my freedom
My freedom will be my victory
And my victory will be their downfall
17 years
319 days
23 hours
And 48 minutes
Is how long it's taken me to realize this
To realize the majority of my problems
Are all in my head
All a product of me not learning to feel successful
Simple idea
Complicated by myself
And only myself
Victory is never taken in a day
These things take time
And that's the one thing I have on my side
Along side those who wish for my growth
And well being
I don't know where to go
From this point
I am limitless
lɑːˈ(d)ʒɛs/ noun
pretium est princeps unde redderent, quia munera(1)
τραγική, η τιμή
Σας έκανε να πληρώσετε
για αυτό
tragikí̱ , i̱ timí̱
Sas ékane na pli̱ró̱sete
gia af̱tó(2)
nu ligga död
botten av gropen(3)
nocht, ach le haghaidh an salachar
Chaith mé a chuirtear air(4)
Take your largesse and squeeze it where the sun never sees(5)
We all laid down
just as well
The master cut
the puppet strings
and we all
(2) Greek ~ grievous price We did pay this
(3) Swedish ~ now lying dead bottom of the pit
(4) Irsh ~ naked, but for the dirt I spent upon it
(5) No translation required
passed out on the bathroom floor
because the drugs don't work
and the alcohol doesn't do the job anymore
the progression of consistent failure mixed with anxiety
explodes in my acid volcanic brain I was given
I drink to get away, to escape, to be happy
but those feelings don't come around anymore
the things I said I would never do
have all been done
so that's why you will find me
passed out on the bathroom floor
I really do have a friend who is jealous of me
kinda like that bitch my dad is with.
She says she hates what I write and I write long poems
Wish she would keep her stupid opinions to herself.
I'm 18 and she killed my liking to write off the internet
long poem with big words us teens like to us a lot.
Thanks for ruining my love for writing my feelings!
Read a poem about Poorly poeticized perspectives
saying mean things about poems like the ones I used to write to myself.
All you can do is criticize but you need to learn to spell.
If I had a penny
for everytime
you truly said
that you loved me.
I wouldn't still be broke.
I could tell you how every stupid Taylor swift song I hear reminds me of you.
Or how I'm drowning myself at the expense of my liver.
I could tell you I'm covering my lips in
Red lipstick hoping someone will call me out one bluff.
I know you'll regret leaving me; you always crawl back with broken promises.
And I could tell you how every east coast band I hear brings tears to my eyes.
I could tell you how winter is the most depressing
Time of the year for me because
Everything I see
Everything I do
Everything I hear
Reminds me of you.
And I just want to tell you one thing...
I am doing in everything in my power
In my heart
In my mind
In my body
To move on from what you ever said
Ever did
To me.
the car seemed to be gliding on glass
the last inconvenient instant before impudent impact
the mangled mass of metal and his black crisp body
a spectacle for the masses, all 4 of them
2 volunteer fire fighters and 2 EMTs
later, your father, blind now in one eye
from America's diabetes, had Ramona
drive him to the spot, to the dead oak
as big around as an oil barrel
dead long before Paul's 1996 Ford Escort
decided to take a go at it
daddy had to see the place
that infinite space between
yesterday and the tomorrow
that would never come, even though
he had already seen, through his one good eye
his boy's charred carcass at the county morgue
resting on a silver slab, the clean and cold bed
where he would spend his last night
before the fiery furnace,
Ramona and he could keep his ashes
no need for a big service, no money for one either
but Dub, "Paul's boss down to the auto parts store,"
opened his wallet as wide as it would go
for the cremation and a nice urn
Paul would be missed, by Daddy and Dub
and once in a great while, in the fast and furious world
of the flat gray town where he lived and died
someone would ask, whatever happened to
that old boy at the auto parts store
the one who limped a bit as he walked,
the one who rarely talked but always
smiled through his yellow teeth
when he placed the goods carefully
on the counter
I'm standing in the back
Next to the guy who's sweater
Has been viciously attacked by Moths
And she walks in.
Causally late
I'm not sure if light is radiating of her
Or the guys bald head sitting
In the front row?...
Gorgeous blonde hair drapes
Over her slender shoulders
Like the curtains
Flowing in my grandma's window
She's wearing converse
She's unique
She's beautiful
She's out of my league
She remains
The Cute Girl At The Poetry Reading
The nameless cute girl at the poetry reading
A new search is ongoing,
with Israeli chemists on a trek;
they seek find the color of God,
which was formerly called tekhelet.
Is its significance a harbinger
of future Messianic times?
Can the rabbis or scientists
decipher this dividing line?
It's an enigmatic shade of blue
that represents God's infinity
caught between the color spectrum
of visible light and invisibility.
Some experts believe the source,
(though the origin is unknown),
may be the secretive creatures
of antiquity called… the hillazon.
Based on some vague descriptions,
its body resembles the ocean;
can Levitical trade secrets be exposed
with the clarity of resolution?
This divine azure is a key color,
of the high priest's holy vestments;
for this serves as a reminder to keep
and honor God's law and commandments.
Allow the penetrating light of God
to serve as a transforming catalyst;
though this mystery of life is unfinished,
know that faith is not an accident.
Open my eyes Lord, that I may see
the royal blue of Your sea
and observe Your sea of the sky,
that depicts the colored backdrop
of the holy throne belonging to Adonai.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Num 15:38-39 and an episode of the Naked Archaeologist;
as part of the dye making process, direct sunlight is
required and serves as a catalyst to modify the color
pigment at the atomic level.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
when a gin and tonic turns jinn and lost it
chronic, clown face coined comic
yeah, my life is fine
but my blood is toxic
sailed the seas
I rocked the ship
Ironic, iron crosses
aren't half the decoration you'd be
insert m.a.a.d. city catch phrase
catch the connotations to decode what I say
even so, it's pretty personal
you could place all the pieces and still not see the picture shown
how many times do I have to tell you, don't hold me
if you don't want to own me
how do I return to my right now
and explain that my scent is such because of a subscription to a series of you weren't my first choice
sorry, you just don't make the same dent in my bed sheets
or pillow, among other sentimental things
simply put, you got stuck with the short end of the stick
getting lovestruck by someone who's lovesick & starstruck
a patron to the trading block throwing tantrums about daft shit
and aspiring alchemist all because he missed his first draft pick
Ill-fated crowd neath foreign cloud: the Silent City braves
against a sudden sullen flood (unleashing lashing waves
that wash the stony structures clean with radiance that laves).
Deserted streets, once draped retreats, spin yarns of yesterday,
with sounds of words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life ( at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.
Within its walls, whist buildings, tall... outside the City, dunes...
they frame a frail forgotten tale, once written carved in runes,
with symbols strung like halos hung, reflections of the moon's.
Though churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise
the City's now a sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues.
A church's Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, windswept blown above the stones, a maiden's blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos still aglow.
Steel chapel chimes! Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won't writhe to ring the carillons, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.
The footsteps swarm the church no more (apostates that profane),
and echoes in the nave ring thin, though chalice cups retain
a taste of brine, once altar wine decaying back to rain.
No face appears with jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
or paint pale lips with languid laughs to pierce the deathly calm –
or pray for mercy, grace, reprieve, or beg lethean balm.
Coiled candle sticks! Their iron claws no longer loom the cracks
with dying flame in smoky swirl mid pendant pearls of wax,
since night lit up, and innocence dissolved in melted tracks.
Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, across the cruel moraine
reflecting white a wisp of light in ebon beads of bane
which casts a crooked smile across a faceless window pane.
Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter's wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak .
The parapets... unoccupied, with neither voice nor crier
(no cantillation, belfry bells; no Minarets inspire) –
abodes and buildings silhouette their mirthless muted choir.
Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness meant to slate,
while lanterns, lovely high above, in silent swinging gait,
haunt ballrooms, bars, abandoned now, with no one left to fete.
The steeple tower, stone and steel, drab dagger in the sky!
Its hallowed hall no longer calls, when breezes wander by –
for filled with dread to wake the dead, it's ceased to sough or sigh.
Sky's silhouettes show no regrets, neath twilight's silver shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap their spirits seep, a clutch of clammy clouds.
No things appear with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
or paint pale lips with languid laughs to pierce the deathly calm –
there's only hollow emptiness that shifting shades embalm.
The sun-bleached bones of those who shone are scattered down the lanes
while other souls who hid in holes left bones with yellow stains.
But plaintive tears were never shed, for no one felt the pains.
The castle clocks unwound and blocked! Their peerless speechless spokes
unfurl in black the reigning Night, by spinning off her cloaks
and flaunt the dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.
Green trees gone dark, in palace parks, where children paused to play –
now phantom things on voiceless swings, like statues made of clay,
watch graveyards groom the marbled tombs, where grievers knelt to pray.
The terrors of a conscience fraught, no longer stalk nearby
to rip the shrouds from curtained clouds, frail fabrics of the sky –
the wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams no longer terrify.
And fog no longer leaks beyond the edge of doom's café,
for when she sails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow shades of misty tears on sheets of shallow gray.
Beyond the suburbs, farmers' fields (where donkeys often brayed)
are lying fallow, barren dust, where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a spade.
A silo, still! Like hollowed quill, a ravished feather's vane –
with traces of bespattered blood, once flowing through a vein –
the fruits of all the labour... lost... 'twas truly all in vain.
No souls appear with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
or paint pale lips with languid laughs to pierce the deathly calm –
they vanished quite a while ago, beneath a neutron bomb.
Beyond the Silent City's walls, the victors laugh and play...
They're celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil's sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.
Thoughts in time and out of season
The Hitchhiker stood by the side of the road
And leveled his thumb
In the calm calculus of reason.
Hi. How you doin'?
I just got back into town,
I was out in the desert for awhile
"Riders on the storm"
Yeah. In the middle of it
"Riders on the storm"
"Into this world we're born"
Hey, listen, man, I really got a problem
"Into this world we're thrown"
When I was out on the desert, ya know
"Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan"
I don't know how to tell you
"Riders on the storm"
but, ah, I killed somebody
"There's a killer on the road"
"His brain is squirming like a toad"
It's no big deal, ya know
I don't think anybody will find out about it, but…
"take a long holiday"
just, ah…
"Let your children play"
this guy gave me a ride, and ah…
"If you give this man a ride"
started giving me a lot of trouble
"Sweet family will die"
and I just couldn't take it, ya know
"Killer on the road"
And I wasted him
sentences go off like gunshots.
the smallest of sounds have the loudest of consequences.
whispers make waves.
the quietest of confessions carry the most catastrophic concussions.
words are weapons and our mouths are at war.
A real man is mentally and physically strong,
Has a good heart and mind,
Moves away from sin,
Accepts and appreciates who he is,
Accepts and respects everyone,
Doesn't judge anyone because he knows that he isn't the one to judge them,
Shares the Love of God with His family daily and has strong faith,
Doesn't take actions or make decisions that confront his faith and beliefs,
Has dreams and ambitions,
Always speaks the truth,
Always thinks before making a decision,
Accepts his mistakes and knows that he isn't perfect,
Is humble,
Is able to control his rage,
Inspires others by being a role model,
Commands respect,
Respects women and never man-handles them,
Loves his wife and remains faithful to her forever,
A Devoted father,
Is a great father figure to his son,
Has a special bond with his daughter,
Protects his family and always does what is best for them,
Keeps a roof over their heads,
Earns a living,
Doesn't care what others think of him,
Has emotions and is able to express himself,
A real man never gives up and is optimistic about the future!!!
since the first time i met you,
i knew it's got to be you.
the one who is going to break my heart to pieces.
the one who is going to make me fall.
the one who is going to make me addicted to you.
the one who is going to make me love you,
even when you're not going to do the same way.
but i'm just fine with it.
the more i try to move on,
the more you appear on my mind.
so i just let it go.
let you fill my head with bad thoughts.
let you make me desperate in a little devastating thing called love.
no one can replace you.
no one can smoke cigarette yo like you do.
no one can laugh like you do.
no one can walk like you do.
let me love you.
Isn't it funny how your deepest fear
Your most intimate nightmare
Can become a reality within you
The boy who wants to avoid
Being his father's son
Takes to drinking and cheating
To save himself from feeling
So he won't hurt himself
Like his father hurt him
He is his father:
A coward, lazy and ignorant
The girl who hates her peers
Doesn't realize how she is
She looks for excuses to be angry
And speaks deliberately about their flaws
So that she knows she is good
And she knows she is right
She is her peers:
A bitch, self-centered and insecure
The man who fears his habits
Doesn't know he has the power to change
The years of drinking and cheating
Never made him feel good after all
He knows who he is now
And he can make it better
He is not his father:
A warrior, courageous and strong
The woman who has no friends
Doesn't realize that she can make it different
The years of gossip and destruction
Never made her good after all
She knows what she is capable of now
And she can change it for the better
She is not her peers:
A straight-shooter, honest and kind
caramel macchiato flavored coffee with mint cigarette flavored kisses with your dreamboat lover is the quintessence of what i call "perfection". if there was a way to describe the way your lips feel against mine, i could only describe it as "cigarettes and coffee". cigarettes and coffee isn't simply consuming caffeine or inhaling tobacco in your lungs, it's sitting on the roof at 1 am looking at the stars with a blanket around the both of you. it's laying in the grass with a slight breeze blowing making smoke rings between the arduous kisses. it's simply sipping a vanilla latte on the corner of a new york city street with a cigarette in your hand, making swirls of smoke as more ash forms above the filter, looking like some sort of bohemian gods. it's walking along a deserted sidewalk in your black jeans and doc martens with a big t-shirt and coke bottle sunglasses on with your lover on your hip and your menthol in one hand and philter in another. "cigarettes and coffee" is whatever you can interpret as pure bliss; it's simply whatever makes you happy and whatever makes you want to sit in the grass all night and talk about anything and everything. there's a lot of people that would argue there's no beauty to the feel of tobacco in your lungs and arabica in your mouth, but evidently, they've never tried cigarettes and coffee.
the first dusting of snow
blankets the fall leaves
carpeting the Oak and Maple grove floor.
a distinct snowflake vanguard
paints the imminent winter solstice
variegated white.
daylight wanes …
now measured by moments
and melted candle wax
~ tick tock ~
~ tick tock ~
paces the silence ...
passing time cannot be stopped
only the diminishing firewood pile
reminds that the passing season
of darkness is gauged
by the depth of abandoned fireplace ashes
from whence warmth had come recognizable…
the abundance of the crackling fire,
the flickering glow hypnotizes
into a vulnerable trance.
fighting back the weighty feeling
of a heart growing cold and dormant
as the changing season
after such sublime awakenings ~
…eerie disappointment
…an unnatural sadness accompanies
the frosty wintertide darkness
waning daydreams evanescent light ,
seasons' metamorphosis to winterlude.
a life without light of love shine
is a life to which hopefulness
subtly vanishes ever so slowly
like the snow flurries blanketing
the fallen and decomposing leaves
beveiled by the imminent winter solstice…
Harlon Rivers
…December 16th, 2012
...baby it's cold outside and headed towards single digits
stoke-up the fire and spike the eggnog (!)
*another year has passed in the blink of an eye
yet again , sliding one small bead along the rod ,
in this groove , on my abacus of passed time ;
there is not that much that changes , perhaps we just repeat ...
I could have written this today , as well as last December
... or perhaps another abacus bead's manifest destiny
... that just makes me melancholy on this particular day ...
" blue river " by Eric Andersen
...performs solo vocal & solo piano ... this song takes me to a place I like to go ~
Original member of "The Band"
As I lay in the bedroom,
My own personal confinement'
in which I oh so willingly created for myself,
I feel myself on fire,
My hands shaking out of utter frustration,
fighting every tear welling up in my eyes with all that I have left of my sense of mind,
But for what reason?
to be strong,
to reassure myself,
I ask myself what use is it to be strong if your utterly alone,
With no one to care weather your strong or not,
So I let go,
but just for a moment,
I allow myself to remember the pain,
the memories I locked away,
hoping someday they would cease to exist,
The troubling feelings that twist my heart and bring me to my knee's
letting out slow puffs of breath I calm my emotions,
wipe the water from my eye's ,
clear the tortured expression that once lay on my face,
I leave the moment and enter back into the world I made myself believe in,
I pretend to be strong.
Here we are again.
At the insides of my conscious identity.
This wholly human entity.
The ever growing obscenity,
that helixes off into infinity.
The voice of a thousand
concentrated into two or three pounds
of intoxicating intelligence.
But still,
the utter lack of brilliance overtakes us.
I know I tend to ramble but
I wish I took the gamble.
Return me to the stage
when I first studied the dance.
I never found the gold
at the end of a rainbow
but I'd gladly try another chance.
Well, to be so bold,
even if I did
I'd still think it a shame so
I suppose that its better off I slept it off.
You know, bro?
I imagine petals of light pink roses or of cherry blossoms gliding in the air
Slowly, they turn and fall, gliding through the empty space
I see a pretty woman, with mesmerizing hair and pretty ears and earlobes, sitting there, in a pink dress and with an elegant white hat
Her hair is pulled back into a knot and she plays with little flowers dancing with the wind
I cannot see her face, but I know that she is beautiful and I know that I feel something for her
Perhaps she has blue eyes and small pink lips
Or possibly she has penetrating dark eyes and luscious lips
This woman, is surrounded by the pink petals
Flowing with the gusts of wind that blow the pink dress and white hat
Hundreds, thousands of petals that surround her like little butterflies in the time of love,
Turn and swirl freely, spinning vertically and horizontally
They fall and fall, as if from trees atop the clouds that hang above
But then they rise, too, can you see? Rising, flowing, going everywhere with the waves of blowing air
The lady holds her hat and grabs a petal that far-off mountains and the trees, the rivers and the streams, dedicate to her.
The petal, smooth and delicate, a reflection of her tender hands
The petal, pleasantly aromatic like her fragrance
The petal, soft with subtle shades of pink, a reflection of her gentle nature and all things that surround her being
Lost in my thoughts, I imagine a fragrant atmosphere, with scent of pink rose petals,
And there, a sweet and pretty woman sits surrounded by floating petals in the air.
Muchas gracias =)
What if I told you
you are wanted
I have seen many openly contemplate
to take your own life
is pointless
you have all heard this
many who contemplate suicide
forget that they are loved
forget that they are wanted
by others on his god-forsaken world
It is a deadly thing to forget
don't let it get out of your
the anthem of the lonely
is the subtle ticking of a clock
a bomb preparing to explode
a cola can gathering pressure
a planet with crumbling plates
i am lonely sometimes
i know what true desolation is like
it is a slow aching
i am subject to quick fits of rage
i rarely fall in love
but when i do i am completely and ultimately committed and lost to it
in hope that i have finally found a truly close friend
we learn to be let down
we learn to cope
we are the strongest
those of us that are not destroyed early on
the thin white and pink
scars are not a solution
i have seen that
i drain the emotions through
i drain the emotions through
Lorde music and
soft blankets
midnight conversations
hot cocoa
your small sonnets
10w poems
farewell letters
are a curious sensation
i feel that burning in the back of my
head, as my hands touch the keyboard to
try to express my appreciation for your work
most responses are terminated
your voice is loud
and your clothing is louder
your writing is poetry
and your poetry is art
i detest you
yet i feel a need to
befriend you
you seem worthwhile
you remind me a little of myself
the part that never speaks
and that frightens me
i feel as if you will get to know me
better than i know myself
i could never meet a trespasser
of that caliber
and that potential
All my life
I sought
an angel.
And he appeared
in order to say:
"I am no angel !"
He was the kind of boy
Who used to look at his reflection
Not at the sea.
Until the day
He got glasses
bigger than
his eyes.
I kiss you, you kick me
I just wish for a grin from you, but you lust, you want to groan
I fancy but fear you,
I feel my heart stinging from everything you do to me,
and you made me do.
I fight it but lose it all
I illustrate pictures in frames I should never illustrate
Scenes that make my core crawl, but fly, of you and I
You always leave, you always lead
I sense the thrust, then it's you who I trust
You leave, I scream
My knees collide down,
The echo sound to the floor, I plead for your return
As if it's a light non seen rope,
that twists my body to yours,
But you cut it as it's forever, as if you wouldn't be longing again
You push me, I tumble
You're so high in the clouds,
thanks for being so humble
Raining, snowing,
You're already yearning
for the warmth of my lips,
for the sweat of you I create
Your soothing voice hypnotizing once more,
you interfere your overwhelming chest to mine,
your lips on their way,
but I've seen this trailer over and over,
too many times to be numb again,
So I kick, but you want to kiss
Don't tell Mr. Ippy
He's leaking a lot.
He'll protest until you're
Convinced he is not.
And, don't tell Mr. Ippy
He's losing his hair.
Oh, he'll rant,
And he'll rage
He's so very much there!
He is an awful nice person
When you're not around.
He's quite level-headed,
With both feet on the ground...
Though sometimes he seems
Just a bit overwound,
He's friendly as can be,
And acts quite neighborly.
So, don't tell Mr. Ippy
His voice has a squeak.
Just nod on and off,
And let the man speak.
Perhaps he's a something
We all ought to hear!
He has things to say,
So we should lend an ear.
Don't tell him his eyebrows
Keep moving around,
Searching for something
They haven't yet found.
And they really don't like it
When we notice them twitch.
As if we've just witnessed
They're losing their stitch.
He'll tell you you're mad,
That you've rust in your clinker,
He'll think you've gone daft,
That you've frazzled your thinker.
And he'll steer clear away
When you come into view.
He'll start to believe
What he's heard about you.
Don't tell him
We know he is no
Although he's been
Boasting of that
For a year.
And don't remind him
His glasses are
Three inches thick.
Or that the frames
Seem to look like an
Old licorice stick.
He's a feisty crustmudgeon,
An ornery bloke.
He's an eccentric old dodge,
From irascible folk.
Yes, his tempermnent's so
That it frightens the day.
It chases the doodads
And whodones away.
So, he yells at the sun -
That it's far, far too bright.
And when it is done,
The man yells at the night.
And when night has finished,
And twilight is here,
Mr. Ippy, convinced that
He's made his point clear,
Heads off to bed
Where he sleeps in his tree.
Somehow that seems
Perfectly normal to me.
He's one of a kind,
When there are two,
Or three near.
And we really don't mind
When he's
Visiting here.
Just don't call him peculiar,
Eerie, or queer.
Don't tell him he's
Goofy, or dull,
Or severe.
He never will listen.
And he'll do it with grace.
With such grand denial painted
All over his face.
From the right roundy eyebrows
That skittle and skee,
To the erld yeller somethings
That ought not to be.
And trust me,
The neighborhood
Cannot take much more.
Sometimes it is better
To simply ignore
The oddness of people
Who seem a bit strange.
He is set in his ways,
And he never will change.
And the man's every right
To see things his way.
He's every good reason
To be him today.
And I'm not one to smidg-ell
The blue from his sky.
I'll not ruin his cheery-do-fair,
Why should I?
He's always been a right
Singular fellow to me.
He is as fine as
A bloke ought to be.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"Love your neighbor as yourself;
but don't take down the fence."
~Carl Sandburg
my body hasn't forgotten
the lost season of single sun
scattered on barren streets
where we found oblivion.
the smell of a yellow book
marked with your soft hand
on time being a concept
flowing away too slowly.
i could walk again here
and reach for a piece of sky
but i see no way back
when touch is only a dream.
You made me stop believing
in who I was.
You slapped my ass with your shower caddy--
blamed it on invisibility
with a smirk and a wink in my direction.
I saw your reflection
in the hall mirror from the corner of my eye.
Your body was full and half-clothed,
your imagination molding me
as I stood there innocent
trying to view myself
the way you saw me.
It was a dark shadow you cast.
I bathed in your deception.
I saw my own reflection--
in my bedroom mirror at midnight
with your hands on the nape of my neck
and your fingers cradling my skull,
flattening my spine into
what you would fit into your figure.
There was your lips on my ear and I heard
a backwards whisper of a promise you swore,
you swore was true.
It wasn't--
and didn't like who I saw.
My perspective is Unique,
and at times troublesome
I see the world differently
Looking into someone's eyes,
I see what pains them most
Reading someone's face,
I see the pain up close
I see the world differently
My heart is full of empathy,
though my face is blank
To show what I see in others seems illogical,
if only to spare them pain
I see the world differently
Instead I laugh and smile,
in hopes it will be returned
And if it is genuine,
Than I have found a friend
I see the world differently
The world has forgotten about the moon,
which is fine.
Filled with holes and
long-distance relationships never work out.
The moon can do better.
Sometimes I look up into the sun and
wonder what the flames are thinking.
Imagination is a powerful tool.
An ally.
The sun never responds.
It blocks the view.
I can do better.
What happens when the dead come back to life?
Will we still all watching reality TV?
Keeping up with the Corpses.
The strange will inherit the Earth.
The glare of the office's lights are blinding.
I wonder how many secrets
the wall clock can remember.
My cube neighbor and I have an argument.
I suggest that Spiderman is a terrible superhero,
he shows me his Brown Recluse bite.
I will still claim victory.
To the lady walking down N. Broadway,
pretending that she is a bird.
I get it,
I want to fly as well.
There is no will left to fight.
I will never reach my fullest potential.
That is something I will remember forever.
I am hoping for the best.
A fool's errand.
Hope is something that
rich men talk about, while
flying through the clouds.
The sun is their ally.
Keeping the poor from dreaming.
My only plans for the New Year,
are sitting on my couch,
drinking beer, and
watching the walls dance.
Bubbles busting in celebration,
while I fall asleep at 12:01 AM.
Thus is the life of an adult.
Listening to the ruins of society,
waiting for the witches to burn.
Maybe it's because of all the lies,
Or maybe because of the ones I despise,
But sometimes I think it's about you,
But I'm not sure; I've got no clue
Maybe it's you,
From my point of view,
You're perfection,
Never will you face rejection
The way your dimples are only on one cheek,
The way you laughed that day by the creek,
The way you held my hand trigging sparks,
The way you looked at me at the park
I don't know why you make me feel stupid,
Like I've been played by the Cupid,
I don't care anymore on why this is,
For I'd like to stay like this.
Sometimes there's this emptiness in the soul
With which the saddest songs would not heal
And the soft kisses of tissues would not soothe
The burns of the acidic tears
Something in there
Cannot be resurrected
Nor stimulated
With a thousand voltage defibrillator
Most of the time,
the rotting flesh is still alive
The heart still beats
The EKG device monitoring
Each stubborn peak and trough
In this blind bleakness,
There is still a small spark
An iridescent bubble that refuses to be burst
And with quiet determination,
There is a defiance to live
And sometimes
This small act of defiance
Is the greatest courage of all
I remember the day I met you with such clarity. You remembered me, I didn't recall meeting you before. But you caught my eye, and there was something about you that made my heart skip a beat. Weeks turned into months, with little to no communication. But I couldn't get you out of my head or my heart. So I prayed. Prayed I would cross your mind. And I will never forget that Sunday night at three in the morning. You reached out to me out of nowhere, and we stayed up talking till four-thirty.
As the leaves began to change so did our friendship. Facebook messages turned into text messages, visiting you at work, studying at coffee shops, and late night conversations became a regular thing. And just like the leaves fall for winter, so I fell for you. But that was my mistake. Because, like the fool I am, I believed you would catch me. And you didn't. You invited me to take the risk, or as some would say: "you lead me on." And I fell hard. Hitting rock bottom and breaking into a million tiny pieces. You watched me fall-oblivious to the power you had over me.
Its one thing, to experience heartbreak from someone that was yours. Its another thing, though, to lose someone you never had. You was never mine to lose. The hardest I ever did, was forcing myself to walk away from you. Everyone told me I deserved better. It took four months to believe them.
Now, I'm sitting at the coffee shop we used to go to, alone, watching the sleet hit the ground on this cold december day. I deleted our messages, and we are no longer Facebook friends- and I hope you know that was not easy for me. Because I miss you and our laughs and 3AM conversations. But I also know that this is what I need to move forward, to heal. I'm not saying goodbye forever but for now. And I pray that someday we can be friends again.
This is not how I planned the story of us ending. But someone recently told me the best way to make God laugh is by having a plan. No more planning. No more trying to understand why things happened the way they did. Because I'm not meant to understand-I'm meant to trust that God will turn my disintegrated ashes into something beautiful and radiant. And he will. Someday, I will find someone who treats me the way I deserve.
Someday, things will be beautiful again.
Someday, my story won't end in tragedy.
it is i who is
the facestealer
of myth;
every day
is another
(ruins -
in my face are
the ruins
of who i
used to be,
if anyone
this head
before i)
i wake up
and i pull on
another mask
built out of
my friends'
skin -
they breathe
into my lungs,
they tell me
what to say
(who is it
that claimed
this head
before i?
i trudge
to the bathroom,
never touching
my make up tray -
a collection
of disguises
it lies empty
on the counter
but never worn
i grieve it
before i sleep again)
days are spinning by and i think this is what remission feels like
empty apathy
and struggle
i wish i could write
better things
but this is all that i feel.
constantly losing battles is so hard
we play a losing game
monopoly maybe
i long for the person i used to be
or is this the person i've always been?
hold flowers between your fingers and think long and hard about something
something that you want real real real bad
maybe it'll come true
probably not.
so full of pain trying to be subtle i should be bleeding
word choice alone
should have given you a clue
and the consistent undertone of raw pure unadulterated angst and bitter humor
that isn't funny at all.
Adventures In Good Deeds
i helped pick up the trash and i thought about volunteering at a soup kitchen
if only i could find the on switch
5 Hour Energy .
am i decent enough for one word biographies?
do i hold enough presence for silence?
can i afford to not begin my sentences with sorry?
i am barley a person
just a body with good organs
and no license to complain
"ma'am kindly shut the fuck up no one cares."
that's what they'll say to me i'm sure
the thought police
who hate me and i don't feel anything towards them
because i am nothing but apathy and stupidity
i don't deserve anything
not joy or bad i don't deserve either
not because i'm neutral but because i've never done anything to feel anything
not that i am undeserving of feeling the bad things
but there has been nothing in my existence to make me feel
spoiled brat woes and hearts sealed with classical silver duct tape
maybe a dash of pepper on a delicious meal that had no need for pepper
i don't
Patchwork Happiness
on the dot
sunday's for church where the atheist goes because he fears and dreams
I read the writing,
30 years old, or older.
My Grandmother wrote,
left handed,
after a stroke.
Funny how,
it read just like
Now, what was written,
was a copy.
But 5 pages deep,
I was deeply
What a woman.
Pictures only show
me who you used to be.
Your husband used
to call me his girlfriend,
even on his deathbed.
I wanted to quit smoking,
in honor of you.
I cried a bit
at the library,
and just for an hour
I was taken away.
To touch the same paper
you put your pen to,
it truly was an honor.
Reality hits,
your daughter is
here, to collect me.
Because that is all
I am.
It's rough,
it bites,
it truly sucks me
And when I look at your
pretty pill bottle,
and try to make sense
of a cancer that made you
ill, how to glorify
a gust of sickly
pills, I am confused
by the nurse,
the doctor,
the pastor,
the preacher,
the passer-by
and the master.
I wish your subtle
messages could
be a bit more clear.
I'm confused by the
new neighbors,
and saddened to see
myself to be just so
naive. Some tell me
that I'm 20,
a birthday tells me
I'm 19.
Who bears the truth,
the truth within,
is you.
So please,
come out and say
hello, born to die,
don't you hide,
my hair is growing
old lengths once
it's a sign.
What is Love?
I'm not talking about
What she where's Above
Low cut shirts
And tight fitted jeans.
Just to use what's In-between
But what she says.
But it's how we show it
Because Satisfaction
Is always defined,
by a persons Action
Not two people that have
Vaine Tendencies
Two people that have,
reason to Believe
The people who show no
I love you soo much Click
Lets see what you're wearing above Click
A couple with
Great Conversation
So we both have more,
to talk about.
Instead of...
"What are you doing tomorrow"
"How did your day go?"
Because we all have to borrow,
we're all in debt for the time
In our lives.
And that -First time smile-
Where cheeks are turned,
hearts are burned.
With the same response
"It took you a while"
It takes the right person
To take just a while
To see if smiles aren't
Fake to see if they don't.
Shatter and Break.
A kiss?
A kiss is the biggest,
human weakness.
It means I'm defeated
It means I'm the weakest
human being
Because it has more meaning
Than the greatness
Of just locking lips?
(With You)
Do you see, what I'm Seeing?
See because were Free
And not just
As in
But we have Free
Reason to Speak
And it gives us Free
Reason to
Words like
I Love You
Are chucked in to the wild
And used soo freely
Would make a person melt
The feelings are warm.
They feel soo familiar
To me
So be careful how they're used
because the words also kill
Are they Free now?
With jewels, clothes, and
materialistic things don't
Bring the Love she brings to me.
"I've been broke(n) all my life"
All the points
Point you in the right direction
For Success to Succeed
This is Reality
Think Positivity
Us, just you and I.
This is our world.
But these aren't tears.
Maybe they are, maybe they are our own.
But what does this matter? We have seen each other's tears.
We're washed, cleansed, and no longer you and I.
We are young.
We are free.
We are innocent.
We are happy. Happy.
Can you imagine?
Thunder rolls. But not thunder.
Music that used to be our sobs, washed clean by this rain that isn't rain at all.
We play, play like the children we never ceased to be.
We run, not racing like we usually do,
neither one of us wanting to win because to win means to leave the other behind.
We love each other, but we're not in love.
How beautiful is that? How simple and perfect.
How sublime this thundering, rainy day can be.
It's a wonder. Greater than the sun.
Sunlight doesn't bring us together, darkness does.
We grow from the darkness.
We flourish in the sun.
But every so often, we retreat. Just to stay honest, you see?
I want to tell you everything,
but lately I haven't been able to find the right words.
Upside-down vowels adhere to fractured consonants;
mismatched words snap into twisted phrases and unkind sentences.
Hesitation has been holding my wrists and drowning me
in rivers of regret and loneliness.
Waves of sorrow crippling my psyche with every drip
of the faucet.
What once was a controlled trickle
is now a raging flood.
Oxygen isn't common
in the box labeled reality.
"Take a hatchet to the walls,
and step into the sunlight!"
Curious knights ride upon steeds of
broken glass and rose petals,
with hopes to sew heartache back onto my
tattered sleeve,
all of whom are poisoned by greed and
red-hot lust.
They don't know about the bridges
that've been incinerated inside my soul.
But we all need that person who will kiss our scars,
and read us seasick faerie tales of love and triumph.
When we find this victor of such an immortal task
we'll dive into the ocean of eternity,
and hope for the best.
Beating meat again
Five sisters do me up right
Masturbation blues
the desk needs tidying
tea boxes scattered
focus on the bed
the comfy bed that
needs to be made
but no one can make you leave
pace 3 steps
you took four
back 5 steps
maybe an hour
in the comfy bed
yea, two hours
3 hours
the desk needs tidying
class missed
pace 4 steps
be fair
back 4 steps
maybe a half hour
tear blanket from bed
but it is dinner time
rip skin
My breasts look big in this dress
maybe it's too tight
don't look at me at this party
my butt is breaking out for a fight
This dress is making me mad
mascara running I am so sad
I wish I had never come here
my confidence is full of fear
I don't like me
not as beautiful as I used to be
my love tells me he still loves me
Yet, I in my heart, I don't believe
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
PRESSURE - like animal skin stretched over the head of a drum,
my heart,
BEATING, like ancient hands, BEATING
an even more ancient rhythm, BEATING. BEATING.
tribal eyes wide, pupils bare, BEATING
with ayahausca or psilocybin, ibogain or some sort of villlage speed
with dirt and herbs, a lion's adrenal gland to make the Super Amphetamine,
royal in it's derivatives
and it makes the heart BEAT BEAT BEAT
like a prisoner in the straight jacket of lungs it BEATS and screams blood into bursting vessels
it BEATS like the misunderstood youth of the 20th Century, the frenetic spirit HOT and LOUD
and lost...
leave it to the liver to filter out those toxic connections that evoke those dire emotions
arresting both the heart and the breath
let it be because if I were to live any longer in a happiness, it would just be unfair to the rest
that if I were to live any longer in a happiness
the whole of my being would fold into the openness of my chest
it will not be caused by a PANIC, a PANIC caused by a PUSH, a PUSH caused by discontentment, discontentment caused by impatience, and impatience caused
by the resounding WUBwubWUBwubWUBwub of a beating heart.
living instrument, sing to me what is meant
living instrument, can you forget
what once made your strings as heavy as led?
what once made you wrench?
living instrument, twice as large as the machine in the skull, why do we bother with loving?
living instrument, are you solid enough to take this fall?
From there be LIFE; And Life your Own dictate
Which No-One in Wisdom Violate must
Even I - the Bard his Ego verbate
Shun my Trumpets forge your Support and Trust
Three Years when since your Rightful Ignore
As Cunningly Thankful my Healing teach
To Know - and Accept - such Freedom you Adore
Your Choice-of-Bonds must Preserve out-of-reach
To Succumb this Jewel we call RESPECT
Ensures this World our Everlasting Bliss
Which you and your Lad thrive in such Aspect
We Realised Sinners comfort your Miss.
Your Hero once more from Stonewall be Praised
Though Compassion should our Fortiments raised.
My dear, my darling
I must confess to you a
my dear, my darling
will you do your best to
I know you have a
and live so
but baby I could
I already know you're
My dear, my darling
I never
how LDR relationships
but my dear I now think they
My dear, my darling
I'm addicted to your
your comments, posts, and
you're even exactly my
My dear, my darling
I don't wish to break up
but my dear, my darling
I think I am falling
My day wasn't unsuccessful.
I got what done what I needed to get done.
I think the same song has been on repeat all afternoon.
Wine drunk, staring out the window.
And I mean really drunk.
And I certainly mean really staring.
It's so foggy here up on this hill.
All you can see is a blur.
The very bottom of the blur is orange,
But that is just because of the streetlights
That are out in the parking lot.
The rest of the blur is purple,
But an orange-y purple.
It kind of hurts your eyes to look at it.
But it is beautiful and sad,
And not sad like how your mother hits you
Or your cat gets cancer
Or you relapsed after four months.
It's sad like when you realize
You're 4/5ths through an amazing movie,
Or when you see a surprise military homecoming
Or you unpack in a new home.
My room mate won't be back
Until much later.
I don't mind.
I need some time
To get wine drunk and stair out the window.
And be sad.
But it's not quite as beautiful as the blur.
That's okay anyway.
I'm in love with my fiance.
And my best friend.
And my cat.
And my little sister.
And all my new dresses
That I ordered on cyber Monday.
I'll be doing just fine when they come in.
When I make it through the orange-y purple blur.
Pray for me.
Because my toes are cold,
And so are my arms, and my cheeks, and my chest.
But my eyes and my outspoken tongue are on fire.
Mark Twain asked this,
And now I want to know, too.
Why didn't anyone ever pray for Satan?
Hundreds of centuries have gone by,
And no one prayed for the man
Who could have used your kind words
The very very most?
No one is praying for Satan,
Someone better pray for me.
Maybe one of your gods will take pity.
None of mine have.
But they say I'll be doing just fine when those dresses come in.
You know?
When I make it through the blur.
I'm gonna leave it for the morning in the afterlife
And she's drunk by the day time
I bet she feels it just the same, not anymore"
I've recently been contacted about having my collection of poems published. since you all are such great fans and supporters, I invite you to go 'like' my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/courtneyksnodgrass
you'll get additional sneak peeks like excerpts and quotes from the novel that I just finished writing as well!
it would really mean a lot if you guys could go like my page and then invite your friends too. (if you feel I deserve it)
all is appreciated, thank you so much.
~Courtney Snodgrass


text:
Article |
October 31, 1996
Supplier news: Appointments, promotions
Packaging Machinery Manufacturers Institute (Arlington, VA): Barry Shoulders of BWI Kartridg Pak (Davenport, IA), chairman of the '97 executive committee; other committee members include Fred Erler of Nordson Corp.
(Duluth GA) vice chairman; and Robert S. Potdevin of Potdevin Machine Co. (Teterboro NJ) secretary-treasurer. Newly elected PMMI board members are Daniel A. Pollock of Roe Inc. (Perrysburg OH); Mel J. Bahr of MGS Machine Corp. (Maple Grove MN); and H. Lincoln Jepson of New Jersey Machine Inc. (Lebanon NH).
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