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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Untitled

Sunday, September 26th, 2010

An untitled epiphany come to life.

I used to be a child, even to a child
Seldom ever seen by the larger of the race
They excluded me from everything and anything
Talked behind my back, and told me lies to my face

I’ll never understand it
How they seemed to take for granted
The innocence and Love that I had
And everything that made them mad
Made them want to treat me bad
But made me want to be a better dad

I used to be a child, then I grew up
Now I’m a screw-up
And I don’t like to do much
But if I don’t go through this phase
You know my mind’s going to waste
It just means that I can taste
The bitterness that’s filling this place

A bastard of hate and mistake
Others are caught in my wake
I can’t leave my life up to fate
I don’t want to have to wait
Everyone sees the warning signs
But no-one seems to act in time
It’s time that I made a stand
I’m now prepared to be a man

Now everything I’ve ever wanted is coming to life
I’m having a son with my beautiful wife
I don’t want to be what I constantly see
Greasy
Greedy
Feed me
Free me

But now I recognize the laws
Money talks and bullshit walks
So lick your lips and wipe your claws
The moral of the story is
Now listen close and live by this
I used to be a child, but now I’ve dropped my childish ways

Vanity

Sunday, September 26th, 2010

A little foul language in this one. You were warned.

Why am I special, Why am I sad
Isn’t it expected; Everything I do should be bad
Why am I special, Why am I real
Why should anyone give a fuck what I feel
Why am I special, Why should I regret
Meeting all the hate and resentment I’ve met

Why am I special, Why shouldn’t they degrade me
They bitch and they moan, but they can’t even face me
Why am I special, Why should I have spoke
When I’m not as important as a light and a smoke
Why am I special, Why am I the red herring
Why can’t I just jump like the rest of these lemmings

Why am I special, Why should I cry
I’ll just let them eat me alive, and then die
But I’m tired of explaining myself to the world
I’m about to break out with my new flag unfurled
It’ll stand for a justice and liberty of the mind
Regardless of any inconsistencies they may find

Because I’ve got a son and my lady to live for
And I won’t let that falter for some coward and his whore
And why should I have to listen to their shit
What… They’ll get mad… Throw me out.. Throw a fit
And why should I give the others a chance
Only thing between them and up my ass, is my pants

All of this hassle is making me sick
I’m about to break out, and they can all suck my dick
They’ll all miss out on the love I contain
And I’ll casually point to the wounds I’ve sustained
I don’t have to deal with their bullshit and lies
They won’t put me down, I’ll end up on the rise

Why am I special, Why shouldn’t I die
Because of my wife, and my kid, and the gleam in my eye

Not a Cloud in Sight

Saturday, September 25th, 2010

Deep beneath my taught, burned skin
I reek of evil, wretched sin
Beating is the morning sun
That knows the wicked truth within

I’d thoughts of Love, I’d thoughts of pride
Now only thoughts of suicide
Burning is the rising sun
That knows the secrets that I hide

Not a cloud that I can see
This star exposed your fantasy
Beating is the evening sun
That knows of harsh reality

Found a new soul to begin?
Wet your lips and dig on in
Beating is the setting sun
‘Til another woeful day’s begun

In Bloom

Saturday, September 25th, 2010

If my memory serves me correctly, this was written quite a few years before I had children of my own.

Little Tommy Littlefield
Who hides behind the cyan shield
Clings to fleshy walls inside
The symbol of his mother’s pride

Longer, longer, as it seems
On and on, the oil steams
“Is it over, is it done”
“Have I finally gained a son?”
Rambling on the father goes
Pacing through the lobby rows

Through the double doors we see
That underneath the canopy
Tommy surely did concede
Through the struggle he was freed
And as he slowly gained his sight
Tommy saw the silver light

Pig Me

Saturday, September 25th, 2010

I believe here I was focusing on perspective on life in general, but more specifically, cosmologically speaking: “What\Who’s out there?”

My sphere withdrawing
From further winds, portraying the truth
But in truth, untrue and unknowing
A world within worlds
Ever changing
Ever confusing
Always contradictory

When and will the earth crack in half
And share it’s mysteries of mind-blowing proportion?
And at the final days
When one, many, or all of us
Must shed our misconceptions
And relieve the stubbornness
Which of us will keep the faith?

Poetic as Thee

Saturday, September 25th, 2010

This one is a little silly. I wrote it pretty quickly in honor of a Yahoo! Group I had found, called A Poem Place, for sharing poetry. First time I think I’ve ever used the word “o’er”. Funny I didn’t also use “e’er”.

I turn the dial, fetch my log
Feed the kittens, feed the dog
Cast the work upon my chair
Deep inhale the morning air
Read the words I once had laid
Now awake, my silence paid

Off I go, Off I hike
O’er hill, past the dike
On my way to knowledge hall
Ever long, Ever tall

Find a place, A Poem Place
A smile breaks across my face
Is it true? I read of you?
Can I share my story too?
A Poem Place I found for me
I wish to be poetic as thee

Wince at the Moon

Saturday, September 25th, 2010

I wrote this shortly after the school shootings–Columbine among them–started making the news. I don’t know what those kids were thinking, but I felt a sense of identification with the extreme emotion and mind-cloudedness that I imagined they must have been feeling. I tried to convey that in this short poem from seen the eyes of a troubled fifteen year old, and written in the words of my eighteen year old self.

Its cold and its dark
I have nothing to say
It seems to get harder with each passing day
Explosions and murder
Black crows in flight
My daily injection of bitter delight

Deeper into the corner I crawl
Harder and harder, the rain seems to fall
Never again, I think I shall see
The sparkling child that I used to be
My bruises have healed, but my vengeance is green
In two weeks, and four days, I’ll be only sixteen

The Mechanical Bird

Saturday, September 25th, 2010

I wrote this while thinking about my home on the shore and a new life I could have outside of it. Seems a bit “jazz poetry reading” in retrospect.

Dare I open the door to the masses of Velcro tourists
Seeking only to scorn the venomous Black Widows
That hide and feast in my innards?

In darkness, loud
Death merely hides
Behind fluffy white clouds
And bright blue skies

Trapped beneath the sands of my home land
Waiting for disease to set in for the night
Conjuring dirty words
To scare the creators of this strange facade
From entering my hobbit hole
Cold, tranquil, home

I’ve reached the limits of my vine grabbing radius
Sinking deeper into a seemingly endless, five mile eternity

Hope
My wounds don’t heal
But rather seal with infinite complexity
Leaving no scab or scar behind
Deeper wounds beneath
Waiting to be resurrected by weakness and insecurity
Lurk unseen by my now naked eye

All that I’ve lost and feared
Drains into what’s left of this ill fated world
As angels carry me upon their bosom
To uncharted lives of kings and gods
Life now surely mapped out for me
As happy as fairy tales end

But where, oh where, will the Black Widows sleep?

Tobacco Island

Saturday, April 3rd, 2010

A little something I had to write down while smoking in bed one night.

Sitting alone dreaming of miles of information
Smoking a cigarette and thinking of islands in the sun
Take a drag

The finest tobacco and my little rollie machine
Think I’ll roll a joint and put my feet in the water
Take a drag

Inhale that fine aroma into my lungs
Sit right down on the sand and watch the sun go down
Take a drag

A dream in a dream, sweet and salty smell of the sea
I wonder where the hours have went here

Sand tightening between my toes
I felt the heat building at my side as the tide came in
Looking down at the fire burning by my fingertips
Taking a moment to feel the scorch before shifting it
And taking a nice, long drag

I’m sitting in my bed, and I’ve got this idea growing
I wonder where the hours have went here
Taking another drag and putting out another rollie cigarette
Watching it smoulder as I crush it with seared fingers
Wish I had another

Questions

Wednesday, October 15th, 2008

A friend of mine wishes to become a singer. I told him that I write poetry and he asked if I could write him a song to sing. I wrote this poem a few months ago as a song about my emotions regarding my failing marriage. It is called “Questions”.

I used to think that the world owed me something
The only things that mattered were the things in my head
I used to be a child, but now I’m a man
But there’s still somethings that I don’t understand

How many words make up a memory?
How many notes are in a melody?
How many people are lonely today?
Tell me, why must I feel this way?

I used to take for granted the way that you’d feel me
Now I only feel that you don’t know who I am
You used to tell me that you knew that you loved me
But now I don’t even feel like we’re friends

I remember when we first made love
And I know just what I was thinking of
I want to be with you for all of my life
But I’ve got questions for you, my wife

How many lies add up to misery?
How can I hide it when it’s easy to see?
How can I trust in anything that you say?
Tell me, why must I feel this way?

I know I’ve made mistakes but can you forgive me?
You know, they say that the best things in life are free
But I will spend my time devoted to you
Baby, tell me what you want me to do

How many moments make up true romance?
How will you know if you don’t give us a chance?
Oh, I don’t feel like a man today
Tell me, why must I feel this way?