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Poetry Thread
- Thread starter Finchinator
- Start date
Insomnia
My mind drives alone
On an endless highway
From 2 to 6 or 1 to 7 or 3 to 5
No cruise control
Swerving away from potholes
Drifting into congestion
Congestion of the mind
It’s a real sickness ya know
Can’t fall asleep at the wheel
“Life is a Highway” could be real
But my happiness sure isn’t
Need to pull over soon
Running on empty
No gas station’s nearby
Guess I’m stuck now.
My mind drives alone
On an endless highway
From 2 to 6 or 1 to 7 or 3 to 5
No cruise control
Swerving away from potholes
Drifting into congestion
Congestion of the mind
It’s a real sickness ya know
Can’t fall asleep at the wheel
“Life is a Highway” could be real
But my happiness sure isn’t
Need to pull over soon
Running on empty
No gas station’s nearby
Guess I’m stuck now.
1:33 AM
One thirty-three AM
Nobody to talk to, everything to say
Life was all together for a few, but now it’s broken
Feels beyond repair, feels like despair, feels are impaired
So deep in my feels
Need to let them out, but got no outlet
Saw the light before the tunnel clogged
Need a breakthrough, like a voodoo, ran out of glue
Can’t keep this up
Running on empty, need attention fuel
Pump us another chapter darling
Story left unwri—-
One thirty-three AM
Nobody to talk to, everything to say
Life was all together for a few, but now it’s broken
Feels beyond repair, feels like despair, feels are impaired
So deep in my feels
Need to let them out, but got no outlet
Saw the light before the tunnel clogged
Need a breakthrough, like a voodoo, ran out of glue
Can’t keep this up
Running on empty, need attention fuel
Pump us another chapter darling
Story left unwri—-
Drive
Driving is kind of romantic
The lines between each lane are separated
But the faster you go, the more you see them blur together
My engine revs
In hopes of ending our separation
But the faster I go, the more the tears blur my eyes
Driving is kind of romantic
The lines between each lane are separated
But the faster you go, the more you see them blur together
My engine revs
In hopes of ending our separation
But the faster I go, the more the tears blur my eyes
A High Schooler Writes Poetry
I've gained such uncountable insights,
in these sixteen years, long and unfair,
into life, into death, into sorrow—
I feel it my duty to share.
My parents and friends just don't get me;
I'm much too mature for my age.
Instead I must channel my wisdom
into worthless scribbles on a page.
Hear all the truisms I've mustered,
the snappy cliches that I write;
these quotes that belong on a poster,
o'er pictures of stars in the night.
My rhythmical structure's abhorrent,
my poetic meter's a crime.
I hear that blank verse is in fashion,
so there's no point in keeping in time.
Behold my inscrutable diction,
my thinly-veiled allegory;
my not-quite-so-subtle self-insert:
(it's third-person, but I mean "me".)
I'm stacking my adjectives so deep
that they lose all the meaning they had.
It's up to readers to interpret
why my word choice is so fucking bad.
I've gained such uncountable insights,
in these sixteen years, long and unfair,
into life, into death, into sorrow—
I feel it my duty to share.
My parents and friends just don't get me;
I'm much too mature for my age.
Instead I must channel my wisdom
into worthless scribbles on a page.
Hear all the truisms I've mustered,
the snappy cliches that I write;
these quotes that belong on a poster,
o'er pictures of stars in the night.
My rhythmical structure's abhorrent,
my poetic meter's a crime.
I hear that blank verse is in fashion,
so there's no point in keeping in time.
Behold my inscrutable diction,
my thinly-veiled allegory;
my not-quite-so-subtle self-insert:
(it's third-person, but I mean "me".)
I'm stacking my adjectives so deep
that they lose all the meaning they had.
It's up to readers to interpret
why my word choice is so fucking bad.
There's a branch in the wind that separates the wisdom of separated branches to show the false true knowing of musical wisdom to know the fact of the fact of all true knowing of where you go between branches and between the branches. So know the fact of a Father's love for his daughter is the showing of the light of the branching of light between the branches to show the fact of light of a light and of a Father's and Feather's face, to show the fact of him loving his daughter.
-Deschutes
-Deschutes
There have been no tears since the day
you walked outside into the dull beat
of the sky holding a Bible and
lime green pocketbook.
no, I haven’t cried
haven’t taken the razor to myself
the South has more pride than that.
I fell in love with plastic and crystal
sometimes aluminum,
I only used the razor against the grain
just like mommy and daddy,
tried to get to heaven but the
clouds too thick and the Atlas sky
too nostalgic for my gray heartbeat.
No love no color just walls
thicker than the long drawl of southern
pride in your back pocket
like the loud moan of an oxygen machine,
where does the ephemeral whiteness of clouds end
and the omnipotent metal of heaven begin?
Not fair that you could make such an instantaneous
transfiguration, three days then marble,
leaving me in flesh, how malleable,
defined by feeling,
concrete never fails to collide
with face, no matter the sentimental
color of our eyes.
I’ll try to pull myself from the brown taste
of guilt and apologize for
dreaming with nodding eyes,
the cigarette smoke on my jacket
and sacrosanct disbelief.
you walked outside into the dull beat
of the sky holding a Bible and
lime green pocketbook.
no, I haven’t cried
haven’t taken the razor to myself
the South has more pride than that.
I fell in love with plastic and crystal
sometimes aluminum,
I only used the razor against the grain
just like mommy and daddy,
tried to get to heaven but the
clouds too thick and the Atlas sky
too nostalgic for my gray heartbeat.
No love no color just walls
thicker than the long drawl of southern
pride in your back pocket
like the loud moan of an oxygen machine,
where does the ephemeral whiteness of clouds end
and the omnipotent metal of heaven begin?
Not fair that you could make such an instantaneous
transfiguration, three days then marble,
leaving me in flesh, how malleable,
defined by feeling,
concrete never fails to collide
with face, no matter the sentimental
color of our eyes.
I’ll try to pull myself from the brown taste
of guilt and apologize for
dreaming with nodding eyes,
the cigarette smoke on my jacket
and sacrosanct disbelief.
In winter-time they come early,
the stars;
our sun, our very own star
sets, and our atmosphere clears
Not completely, of course,
but enough that we can see constellations
asterisms
nebulae
sometimes our very own galaxy.
The Greek assigned myths to the patterns:
Cygnus,
cast into the sky by Zeus
neck outstretched and wings beating
frozen mid-motion
splayed across the cosmos
so she may escape Hera’s wrath;
the Pleiades,
seven nymph sisters
transformed into doves
then stars.
There are, of course, more than seven stars in the cluster,
with its true and optical binaries,
such hot blue stars;
Orion,
the hunter who dared love a follower of Artemis.
His asterism is clear,
Orion’s Belt, the line of three
points of light.
And I wonder if, when my time is up,
I too will be cast into the sky;
if I’ll be scattered across the heavens
torn apart
ripped from myself
and when future generations look at the sky
they’ll see me,
a new-born star,
or a constellation,
or part of many constellations,
an asterism, perhaps?
Points of light, shining bright
until I reach the end of my star-life;
and I explode
and create a supernova
that lasts for weeks, or months
flinging me all across the empyrean azure
and then that
will be
the end.
the stars;
our sun, our very own star
sets, and our atmosphere clears
Not completely, of course,
but enough that we can see constellations
asterisms
nebulae
sometimes our very own galaxy.
The Greek assigned myths to the patterns:
Cygnus,
cast into the sky by Zeus
neck outstretched and wings beating
frozen mid-motion
splayed across the cosmos
so she may escape Hera’s wrath;
the Pleiades,
seven nymph sisters
transformed into doves
then stars.
There are, of course, more than seven stars in the cluster,
with its true and optical binaries,
such hot blue stars;
Orion,
the hunter who dared love a follower of Artemis.
His asterism is clear,
Orion’s Belt, the line of three
points of light.
And I wonder if, when my time is up,
I too will be cast into the sky;
if I’ll be scattered across the heavens
torn apart
ripped from myself
and when future generations look at the sky
they’ll see me,
a new-born star,
or a constellation,
or part of many constellations,
an asterism, perhaps?
Points of light, shining bright
until I reach the end of my star-life;
and I explode
and create a supernova
that lasts for weeks, or months
flinging me all across the empyrean azure
and then that
will be
the end.
Marimba Marsh
In Marimba Marsh under dim crimson suns
A fairy found a fipple flute, and played.
At first note, the surrounding slimy, bubbling mire
Gave way to well-groomed bright-green grass.
For th' second tune the grim maroon stars and moon
Took on cool azure shine that flooded the sky.
Th' next chime had groggy, muddled dens of gruesome, vile gruffalo
Replaced with neat nests for resting baby buffalo.
When the song next sputtered, from withered willow stumps
sprouted flippery floral trees and rainbows of bell blossoms.
The melody finished, the fae fluttered down to doze and dream,
and all was mellow in Marimba Meadow.
In Marimba Marsh under dim crimson suns
A fairy found a fipple flute, and played.
At first note, the surrounding slimy, bubbling mire
Gave way to well-groomed bright-green grass.
For th' second tune the grim maroon stars and moon
Took on cool azure shine that flooded the sky.
Th' next chime had groggy, muddled dens of gruesome, vile gruffalo
Replaced with neat nests for resting baby buffalo.
When the song next sputtered, from withered willow stumps
sprouted flippery floral trees and rainbows of bell blossoms.
The melody finished, the fae fluttered down to doze and dream,
and all was mellow in Marimba Meadow.
Like rocks tumbling onto jewels,
each word confirmed the suspicion.
Yet now I’m more satisfied than ever,
fulfilling my hopeful, imaginary fruition;
gazing greedily at your oceanic endeavour.
Like fire is to diamonds,
you crumble under my limitless desire,
your deceptive exterior means nothing in the eyes of judgement.
Every touch feels like barbed wire.
Every single time the pawn leaves triumphant.
Something so aggressive but so beautiful,
someone so sought after but so fragile.
Like a woman’s touch is to man,
deviant of the acceptable
somehow makes us less susceptible.
It must be scary,
I have nothing to hide; you have all the reason to hide,
but I’m done catering to your apocalyptic tendencies.
So go ahead, I’m the one who seldom sees,
parade down your kingdom of slaves,
Just one unassuming truth bearer is enough to disrupt your cocky waves.
But a secret is only a secret when unvoiced to another,
and albeit tried, a journey only begins with a first step,
and authority must be obeyed unless overthrown,
so do yourself a favour and make your survival mean something.
Evil percolates the damp walls,
yet you find refuge in this dark, dispiriting room.
Memories are what we are afraid of losing but sometimes remembering them is the most antagonising.
Only the sane equate pain with success, and it’s madness to think otherwise you’ll soon learn;
so do yourself a favour girl and rest.
Different denotes neither good or bad; it just means you’re not the same as most,
let trauma mould you - not break you - or make you.
The past must be paid for,
but please darling, only kill him if you think it’ll bring you gratitude,
because sometimes, people have it worse down here.
Our wonderland is shattered
It’s gone
Human purpose is submissive to memory;
the lucky let insignificant memories keep them occupied.
Sadly, memories can be violently invaded,
paradoxically creating a new, unproductive and harmful memory.
Memories are antagonising, yes, but you’re like my little log cabin by the water,
so I won’t forget you, at least for now.
each word confirmed the suspicion.
Yet now I’m more satisfied than ever,
fulfilling my hopeful, imaginary fruition;
gazing greedily at your oceanic endeavour.
Like fire is to diamonds,
you crumble under my limitless desire,
your deceptive exterior means nothing in the eyes of judgement.
Every touch feels like barbed wire.
Every single time the pawn leaves triumphant.
Something so aggressive but so beautiful,
someone so sought after but so fragile.
Like a woman’s touch is to man,
deviant of the acceptable
somehow makes us less susceptible.
It must be scary,
I have nothing to hide; you have all the reason to hide,
but I’m done catering to your apocalyptic tendencies.
So go ahead, I’m the one who seldom sees,
parade down your kingdom of slaves,
Just one unassuming truth bearer is enough to disrupt your cocky waves.
But a secret is only a secret when unvoiced to another,
and albeit tried, a journey only begins with a first step,
and authority must be obeyed unless overthrown,
so do yourself a favour and make your survival mean something.
Evil percolates the damp walls,
yet you find refuge in this dark, dispiriting room.
Memories are what we are afraid of losing but sometimes remembering them is the most antagonising.
Only the sane equate pain with success, and it’s madness to think otherwise you’ll soon learn;
so do yourself a favour girl and rest.
Different denotes neither good or bad; it just means you’re not the same as most,
let trauma mould you - not break you - or make you.
The past must be paid for,
but please darling, only kill him if you think it’ll bring you gratitude,
because sometimes, people have it worse down here.
Our wonderland is shattered
It’s gone
Human purpose is submissive to memory;
the lucky let insignificant memories keep them occupied.
Sadly, memories can be violently invaded,
paradoxically creating a new, unproductive and harmful memory.
Memories are antagonising, yes, but you’re like my little log cabin by the water,
so I won’t forget you, at least for now.
Palpable Palpitations
Take a gulp of the pulp of leo
Fancy yourself as a keanu neo
Leave it all back, keep on your stack
Jack what the whack rack of hacks lack
Black, feel it, the dark space of void
Switch and twitch like a witch freakazoid
Annoyed and toyed humanoid of crinoid
Overjoyed, lusted and excited alkaloid
Unemployed polaroid of Sigmund Freud
Find your truth, find your fear
Hold them dear and close and near
But, grab the helm and steer your leer
Here, is where we begin to hear
Listen baby, your lost doll bully bullshit
Is rearin to take a strike at my searin
And sizzling heart
I can't take the sheer and uncomfortably clear in this beer
and tears seems to throw a wrench in the gears
so peer into the misty hall, the grandest, oldest time honored fall
and see all the truth to fear.
My soul is going through the vortex again
My heart is far out from the dunes of sin
Seeing, believing, knowing, unknowing
Slowing it to a medium thread sewing
Going and quietly towing and rowing
To get to the insatiable, woeful tales
Long, dead, risen and dripping with gin
Sales and mail absorbed without fail
The math cycle goes forever two and fro
It's all for you, it's all to you
Four and two, the mystery of who are you?
Doomed, gloomed and deathly groomed
Shadow, the fiend back again for some more
Lordy lord, the affordable adorable whore
Bored, just bored and can't say anymore
Just someone else please take the floor
Stricken
Kraken
Of What
Cracka's
Lackin
I'll say it once, I'll say it twice
I'm full of blood as cold as ice
The moon is a dank add to the vice
But you think it's true, you even check twice
I'm really frontin the assumption of nothin
The empty expanse that is a somethin
Carry me, back to your hearts girls
I howl to your song of forgotten worlds
I hurled and spun to a swirled twirl to unfurl
A defensive curl to whirl witch you girl
I am fading now, I am finding how
To escape the light of you full again
I need to see the darkness of new
And cyclically shudder to the thunder of you
My sun blood is dripping, she reaps in my sleep
I weep for the sheep who creep in the deep
This crimson tiger and yellow egg
Is wood for my fire, I've come to beg
:(
Take a gulp of the pulp of leo
Fancy yourself as a keanu neo
Leave it all back, keep on your stack
Jack what the whack rack of hacks lack
Black, feel it, the dark space of void
Switch and twitch like a witch freakazoid
Annoyed and toyed humanoid of crinoid
Overjoyed, lusted and excited alkaloid
Unemployed polaroid of Sigmund Freud
Find your truth, find your fear
Hold them dear and close and near
But, grab the helm and steer your leer
Here, is where we begin to hear
Listen baby, your lost doll bully bullshit
Is rearin to take a strike at my searin
And sizzling heart
I can't take the sheer and uncomfortably clear in this beer
and tears seems to throw a wrench in the gears
so peer into the misty hall, the grandest, oldest time honored fall
and see all the truth to fear.
My soul is going through the vortex again
My heart is far out from the dunes of sin
Seeing, believing, knowing, unknowing
Slowing it to a medium thread sewing
Going and quietly towing and rowing
To get to the insatiable, woeful tales
Long, dead, risen and dripping with gin
Sales and mail absorbed without fail
The math cycle goes forever two and fro
It's all for you, it's all to you
Four and two, the mystery of who are you?
Doomed, gloomed and deathly groomed
Shadow, the fiend back again for some more
Lordy lord, the affordable adorable whore
Bored, just bored and can't say anymore
Just someone else please take the floor
Stricken
Kraken
Of What
Cracka's
Lackin
I'll say it once, I'll say it twice
I'm full of blood as cold as ice
The moon is a dank add to the vice
But you think it's true, you even check twice
I'm really frontin the assumption of nothin
The empty expanse that is a somethin
Carry me, back to your hearts girls
I howl to your song of forgotten worlds
I hurled and spun to a swirled twirl to unfurl
A defensive curl to whirl witch you girl
I am fading now, I am finding how
To escape the light of you full again
I need to see the darkness of new
And cyclically shudder to the thunder of you
My sun blood is dripping, she reaps in my sleep
I weep for the sheep who creep in the deep
This crimson tiger and yellow egg
Is wood for my fire, I've come to beg
:(
a coyote is a magnificent, godless thing. it forms itself from city asphalt and cornfield dust to haunt the nights of humid midwestern summers with cries like broken car alarms. it doesn't have rules. it goes and settles as it pleases, it makes itself at home wherever there is room for it and often where there isn't - cities, forests, deserts, mountains, farms. they eat your pets, your livestock, your garbage. death and decomposition as its own form of life. decay which can look you in the eyes and show you its teeth and sing like the sun-bleached bicycle in your shed.
hell is a place which humans built, and which human judges will condemn us to.
Towards the end of a 2 week quarantine session, I decided to test myself by writing a poem. It contains only syllable words, and each stanza uses a different rhyming scheme (AABBCC, ABABCC, ABBABA). I don't know if there's a technical term for that. This was done to illustrate that each stanza takes place during a different time in my life. It's called My Journey Through Faith:
I pray to you.
It's what I do.
Each day I bow my head.
'Cos I don't want to go to hell when I'm dead
I talk to you each day.
But you stay mute. Is that just your way?
As I age, more and more do I find
that which I forced down
starts to crack the shell of my mind.
When told God loves me, I frown
I ask: "then why is the world so full of pain?"
I just can't keep these thoughts from my brain.
In the end, the path was clear.
Zeus, Ra, Thor and Hel.
None can I touch, see, taste, hear of smell.
They are all just myths, so what do I have to fear?
Nought lies past death, as far as I can tell.
I don't fear your wrath, god, and I don't think the end is near.
I pray to you.
It's what I do.
Each day I bow my head.
'Cos I don't want to go to hell when I'm dead
I talk to you each day.
But you stay mute. Is that just your way?
As I age, more and more do I find
that which I forced down
starts to crack the shell of my mind.
When told God loves me, I frown
I ask: "then why is the world so full of pain?"
I just can't keep these thoughts from my brain.
In the end, the path was clear.
Zeus, Ra, Thor and Hel.
None can I touch, see, taste, hear of smell.
They are all just myths, so what do I have to fear?
Nought lies past death, as far as I can tell.
I don't fear your wrath, god, and I don't think the end is near.
I had always daydreamed about the death of loved ones.
As strange as it sounds, the idea of all the lost, distressed souls
uniting over another soul, and unbeknownst to them, just as lost as theirs.
All the laughs masking the cries
All the cheerful replacing the sullen
All the “I’m so sorry for loss”’s really meaning:
“I wish another sun, larger than the black hole grief left behind, would come into your life.”
“I wish another sun, brighter than the murky grey clouds grief left behind, would rise.”
“I wish for another sun, for my sunshine has my violently snatched away by grief’s blue hands.”
Grief followed me like a little sister,
tugging on my clothes whenever I wanted to leave
begging me to accompany it.
As strange as it sounds, the idea of all the lost, distressed souls
uniting over another soul, and unbeknownst to them, just as lost as theirs.
All the laughs masking the cries
All the cheerful replacing the sullen
All the “I’m so sorry for loss”’s really meaning:
“I wish another sun, larger than the black hole grief left behind, would come into your life.”
“I wish another sun, brighter than the murky grey clouds grief left behind, would rise.”
“I wish for another sun, for my sunshine has my violently snatched away by grief’s blue hands.”
Grief followed me like a little sister,
tugging on my clothes whenever I wanted to leave
begging me to accompany it.
current favourite
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves, no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves, no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
old one from a few months ago. i don't write much poetry anymore, but i honestly should b/c i've been in a writing and creative slump since around april. also if y'all ever have trouble finding words that are on the tip of your tongue or you don't know the exact term for, this site is amazing: https://www.onelook.com/thesaurus/
Father, did you see me
performing out on center stage?
Doing pirouettes and somersaults
so I turn another page.
Father, are you watching?
Mother says that you are proud.
My trophies, medals, and accolades
cheer me onward with the crowd.
Father, did you like it?
Another encore for my fans.
Thunder from their hands and feet,
though your love is better than.
Father, I am tired.
Today, I slipped and fell.
I scraped my knee and hit my head
and landed on my tail.
Father, it's nice to see you.
You visited me in bed.
You sat soup atop my drawer
and kissed me on the head.
Father, I'll wear your coat today.
I hope you do not mind.
It's deathly chilly, showering snow
so warmth I wish to find.
Father, I am sorry.
Now your coat is derelict.
A fiendish man splashed mud on me.
My vow I contradict.
Father, are you angry now?
Mother said that you'd be cross.
Her words were crass, a tearful frenzy,
the first one since your loss.
Father, she is better now.
Apologies we exchanged.
Malaise and drear afflict us all
ever since that fateful day.
Father, are you listening?
Perfect marks across the board!
Seven semesters of golden grades,
my dreams I'm heading toward!
Father, an awkward happenstance
occurred to me today.
I thought I saw you riding from
the wharf inside a sleigh.
Father, you appeared again
but this time in my dreams.
Your curled yourself into a ball
and busted at the seams.
Father, I don't feel so good
I inhabit wicked guilt.
Mother has done all that she can,
but I simply wish to wilt.
Father, I cried at school today.
I couldn't stop the tears
from flowing down my pallid cheeks
and burning at the ears.
Father, I must perform tonight.
Please do wish me well.
Guide me as your puppet dear
and cast a lucky spell.
Father, I almost tripped tonight,
though harm did stray my way.
I was mesmerized by horrid sounds of
your heartbeat and the waves.
Father, are you out there
in the cold and crashing blue?
I thought the pier sang me a song
but I'm not sure if it was you.
Father, I won a scholarship
to learn with rich elites.
That means I must soon say farewell
to the water and the keep.
Father, I am close to you.
My feet are on the pier,
a pair of solemn steps I am
from your prison that I fear.
Father, understand me now.
I must conquer all my fears.
I mustn't choke or suffocate
for the remainder of my years.
Father, I am curious.
Why must you look so grim?
Why must your skeleton judge me harsh
just because I cannot swim?
Father, guide me safely
from your home inside the bay.
I dip a toe into your gaol,
stand up, and walk away.
performing out on center stage?
Doing pirouettes and somersaults
so I turn another page.
Father, are you watching?
Mother says that you are proud.
My trophies, medals, and accolades
cheer me onward with the crowd.
Father, did you like it?
Another encore for my fans.
Thunder from their hands and feet,
though your love is better than.
Father, I am tired.
Today, I slipped and fell.
I scraped my knee and hit my head
and landed on my tail.
Father, it's nice to see you.
You visited me in bed.
You sat soup atop my drawer
and kissed me on the head.
Father, I'll wear your coat today.
I hope you do not mind.
It's deathly chilly, showering snow
so warmth I wish to find.
Father, I am sorry.
Now your coat is derelict.
A fiendish man splashed mud on me.
My vow I contradict.
Father, are you angry now?
Mother said that you'd be cross.
Her words were crass, a tearful frenzy,
the first one since your loss.
Father, she is better now.
Apologies we exchanged.
Malaise and drear afflict us all
ever since that fateful day.
Father, are you listening?
Perfect marks across the board!
Seven semesters of golden grades,
my dreams I'm heading toward!
Father, an awkward happenstance
occurred to me today.
I thought I saw you riding from
the wharf inside a sleigh.
Father, you appeared again
but this time in my dreams.
Your curled yourself into a ball
and busted at the seams.
Father, I don't feel so good
I inhabit wicked guilt.
Mother has done all that she can,
but I simply wish to wilt.
Father, I cried at school today.
I couldn't stop the tears
from flowing down my pallid cheeks
and burning at the ears.
Father, I must perform tonight.
Please do wish me well.
Guide me as your puppet dear
and cast a lucky spell.
Father, I almost tripped tonight,
though harm did stray my way.
I was mesmerized by horrid sounds of
your heartbeat and the waves.
Father, are you out there
in the cold and crashing blue?
I thought the pier sang me a song
but I'm not sure if it was you.
Father, I won a scholarship
to learn with rich elites.
That means I must soon say farewell
to the water and the keep.
Father, I am close to you.
My feet are on the pier,
a pair of solemn steps I am
from your prison that I fear.
Father, understand me now.
I must conquer all my fears.
I mustn't choke or suffocate
for the remainder of my years.
Father, I am curious.
Why must you look so grim?
Why must your skeleton judge me harsh
just because I cannot swim?
Father, guide me safely
from your home inside the bay.
I dip a toe into your gaol,
stand up, and walk away.
The Tin Toy
It’s as bright as Christmas morning
Lights blinded my eyes beaming by the thin gloss on my face twinkling like a string-light
The red wrapping comes off, and my box is opened
I’m opened up to smiles, awe, wonder, and snotty kisses
My hard metal body is hugged tightly against warm flesh
My key is wounded, and wounded, and wounded
And there I’d go
My cymbals clanging
My legs marching
My key gets wounded and wounded again
I keep going and I hit the wall…no fuss, just a little dink
I just fall over, and I’m picked up again
I’m wounded, and wounded, and wounded, and wounded
Like a cobra constricting my insides
Until my springs bend, twist, contort, and snap
“Mommy, he doesn’t work anymore”
I’m picked up by a tight, cold, remorseless, boney grip
Carried away from the lights and vibrant colors
I’m chucked into a dark heap of trash
My last sight, days later of sitting in filth, was a new wrapped box ready to play
The new toy had the same glimmer in his eyes I once had, but he’s not as broken as me
Lights blinded my eyes beaming by the thin gloss on my face twinkling like a string-light
The red wrapping comes off, and my box is opened
I’m opened up to smiles, awe, wonder, and snotty kisses
My hard metal body is hugged tightly against warm flesh
My key is wounded, and wounded, and wounded
And there I’d go
My cymbals clanging
My legs marching
My key gets wounded and wounded again
I keep going and I hit the wall…no fuss, just a little dink
I just fall over, and I’m picked up again
I’m wounded, and wounded, and wounded, and wounded
Like a cobra constricting my insides
Until my springs bend, twist, contort, and snap
“Mommy, he doesn’t work anymore”
I’m picked up by a tight, cold, remorseless, boney grip
Carried away from the lights and vibrant colors
I’m chucked into a dark heap of trash
My last sight, days later of sitting in filth, was a new wrapped box ready to play
The new toy had the same glimmer in his eyes I once had, but he’s not as broken as me
Edit: I had a rough day today. I needed to write to flesh out
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Ayo it's ya boy.
I don't write poetry often, and I definitely don't write politically-charged poetry often, but I had to for a class and I'm pretty satisfied w/ how it turned out.
I don't write poetry often, and I definitely don't write politically-charged poetry often, but I had to for a class and I'm pretty satisfied w/ how it turned out.
Matthew 7:13
The chorus of angelic activists, clothed in white, proclaim,
“Black Lives Matter”.
Their voices, heaven-rending, are melodious, tantalizing.
I learned in the Lord’s book of Matthew,
That these fleece-white promises are blacker than the lives they advocate for.
Alabaster allies, crafty canines, hop out of the fire to sing, to say,
“Black Lives Matter”.
As if a truism is more practice than preach
As if their realization is tantamount to black liberation
Their words are clouds of convoluted cotton candy, sweet and nothing
They believe the shackles have been loosened through the whispering waves of the ever-resounding gong,
“Black Lives Matter”.
Wandering souls walk wistfully by, woefully worried of all the wrong things.
The sandy expanse travels forever
The reverberant phrase whips around the dunes—
“Black Lives Matter”
The conflagration of scorching sands set my mind ablaze
Until
The shimmering water glistens as the oasis peeks, then shines
Over the horizon
I kneel over the cold, liquid refreshment
My hand feels the cool water beside the warmth of my mirrored hand
And my blankness meets my darkness over the dewy, glistening edges of heaven
The rumble of water transfigures
“Oh, Tantalus!
How presumptuous to believe that relief is your birthright.
You cry for help,
Yet the cure stays ever-present and ever out of your reach.
No one can hear you, Negro Narcissus. You remain your only respite.”
The vicious whipcrack of the voice tosses me back into my gritty grave.
As the hourglass sands pour over my eyes, I hold fast to myself.
No one has come.
Faith without works.
“Black Lives Matter”
And no one will.
The chorus of angelic activists, clothed in white, proclaim,
“Black Lives Matter”.
Their voices, heaven-rending, are melodious, tantalizing.
I learned in the Lord’s book of Matthew,
That these fleece-white promises are blacker than the lives they advocate for.
Alabaster allies, crafty canines, hop out of the fire to sing, to say,
“Black Lives Matter”.
As if a truism is more practice than preach
As if their realization is tantamount to black liberation
Their words are clouds of convoluted cotton candy, sweet and nothing
They believe the shackles have been loosened through the whispering waves of the ever-resounding gong,
“Black Lives Matter”.
Wandering souls walk wistfully by, woefully worried of all the wrong things.
The sandy expanse travels forever
The reverberant phrase whips around the dunes—
“Black Lives Matter”
The conflagration of scorching sands set my mind ablaze
Until
The shimmering water glistens as the oasis peeks, then shines
Over the horizon
I kneel over the cold, liquid refreshment
My hand feels the cool water beside the warmth of my mirrored hand
And my blankness meets my darkness over the dewy, glistening edges of heaven
The rumble of water transfigures
“Oh, Tantalus!
How presumptuous to believe that relief is your birthright.
You cry for help,
Yet the cure stays ever-present and ever out of your reach.
No one can hear you, Negro Narcissus. You remain your only respite.”
The vicious whipcrack of the voice tosses me back into my gritty grave.
As the hourglass sands pour over my eyes, I hold fast to myself.
No one has come.
Faith without works.
“Black Lives Matter”
And no one will.
Would love feedback.
I Passed Abraxas
Whirring of the spinning line
Light of promises forsaken
Out of touch and out of time
Crushing memories
Yet again I saw you there
Abraxas, king of
Summoned here to I have you
Memories of farther times
Hear my will and hear my song!
Coalesce into your being
Down upon the nanoangstrom
Tide of not into my being
Fly unto the mote of atom
Galvanize the wine-red sea
Tear the bedrock of the earth
Hear my word and hear my plea.
I’m sorry. Abraxas.
I’m so, so, sorry.
I’m ashamed of what I did.
You deserve better than this hodgepodge castle.
Less than its parts.
It’s not my job to make and still I made it, and I did it wrong.
Running from his home I went
I stumble on the broken road
I feel my ring slip from my finger
I wasn’t wearing a ring.
Shining like the gentle glow
Of streetlights on a quiet night
The air is cool but not quite cold
Makes for a nice walk
And on my walk I find a ring
Glowing soft in gems and glass
An inscription, painted with love
This too shall pass.
I bring two poems.
Cryokinesis
The ice plain is perfectly flat.
Besides me, there is nothing on it.
I cannot melt it.
I cannot break it.
I cannot see beyond it.
I cannot travel beyond it.
I cannot succumb to exposure.
I cannot change the weather.
I cannot muster up the will to keep thinking of ways to change it.
I look up.
The sky is perfectly clear.
Besides the sun, it is a single, solid blue.
There is nothing flying above.
Birds will come eventually.
I cannot change the weather.
It will change eventually.
The sun is unblinking.
Night will come eventually.
I look down.
I get a headache.
It clears up.
I touch my finger to the ice and thing
s fall apart.
My hand is fucking shaking.
Down.
DOWN.
DOWN.
The air is perfectly still.
Besides me, nothing is moving through it.
The sky is gone.
It’s inside my heart.
The ice.
I estimate I have about five years until my heart is too cold to pump my blood quickly enough.
But that’s round-number bias.
I couldn’t follow the one rule:
Let it inside my heart.
The mirror breaks again.
And I lose everything again.
No.
Forget you read that part, because what actually happens is this.
I’ll bring back the prior line for reference, and call attention to the change.
Here goes:
The mirror breaks again.
And it reforms!
Shard is one and shard is all.
I know each will heed my call.
For every poking spike within
Your broken edges sharp and thin
Gives a sign as sure as stone:
I don’t have to be alone.
When the serpent rose
Cast its silver eyes upon the littoral
Scanning on the surf and beach for cracks inside the rock
Searching for a rivulet among the crag and cranny of the ocean’s daughter
He remembered?
Cryokinesis
The ice plain is perfectly flat.
Besides me, there is nothing on it.
I cannot melt it.
I cannot break it.
I cannot see beyond it.
I cannot travel beyond it.
I cannot succumb to exposure.
I cannot change the weather.
I cannot muster up the will to keep thinking of ways to change it.
I look up.
The sky is perfectly clear.
Besides the sun, it is a single, solid blue.
There is nothing flying above.
Birds will come eventually.
I cannot change the weather.
It will change eventually.
The sun is unblinking.
Night will come eventually.
I look down.
I get a headache.
It clears up.
I touch my finger to the ice and thing
s fall apart.
My hand is fucking shaking.
Down.
DOWN.
DOWN.
The air is perfectly still.
Besides me, nothing is moving through it.
The sky is gone.
It’s inside my heart.
The ice.
I estimate I have about five years until my heart is too cold to pump my blood quickly enough.
But that’s round-number bias.
I couldn’t follow the one rule:
Let it inside my heart.
The mirror breaks again.
No.
Forget you read that part, because what actually happens is this.
I’ll bring back the prior line for reference, and call attention to the change.
Here goes:
The mirror breaks again.
And it reforms!
Shard is one and shard is all.
I know each will heed my call.
For every poking spike within
Your broken edges sharp and thin
Gives a sign as sure as stone:
I don’t have to be alone.
Abrasax
Do you think
When the serpent rose
Cast its silver eyes upon the littoral
Scanning on the surf and beach for cracks inside the rock
Searching for a rivulet among the crag and cranny of the ocean’s daughter
He remembered?