Open lies, a world full, Ocean tides, border known, Mapped upon a mobile phone, Burning eyes, wait in line, A door, for more control; Face comes first, defines, Then maybe later stones. Which would be more alone? Sitting German in Lederhosen, Burning all my former clothes, Formal close, cutting ties; Or a heart of glass, love inside, Which fights a world, nothing like?
Poetry Satirized What is this thing they call poetry? It’s mostly “pretty words” you see Ok, maybe there’s a bit more to it... I’ll see if I can walk ya through it. We rap similes and metaphors, Figurative language whores Plays on words And turns of phrase Emotional squalor And issues for days Lovers lost And sadness deep Words that when trapped Keep us from sleep “Racing to the finish” Or dragging our feet And not to compete or attempt to defeat But simply To complicatedly complete Alleviate or desecrate All depends upon the date Or what kind of day we had Pissed off, celebratory, sad Or in poetic terminology, Raging, blessed, melancholy We personify and mystify “Let them see it through our eyes” We rhyme and reason Or sometimes we don’t It’s not that we can’t It’s more likely we won’t Abstract or concrete Or both all at once Painting deeeeeep pictures... But sometimes only of confusion Poetic delusions 😉 Words made in illusions Or maybe allusions? No wonder we can’t always reach a conclusion... So “pretty words” though they may often be, There is a bit more to this thing... Poetry.
You would not believe your eyes If you seen all the dark thoughts, I keep at tide inside my head If only that was true, I can no longer control these racing thought, I'm a danger to myself I've succumb to pain, I've felt numb for too long I inflict pain to just feel something, Thoughts constantly racing Never a chance to think straight, I've found a healthy affliction In the pain I inflict upon myself, I can feel it now Like cardiac arrest, The slip of the chair The tension around my neck, Ill try my best, The pull of the blade Against my wrist, I've been trying my best How much do I invest, Before its all over No longer numb, My Demons They catch me when I slip, Motor control loss Mindless acts, Just a permanent solution To a temporary feeling, Exactly how long is temporary All i want is for this living nightmare to be over, These demons consuming me alive Fighting is no longer a solution, Don't stop me now I know now noone would shed a tear, Noone would shutter a sound To stop me, Forget yesterday I dont wanna see tomorrow, Remember when you told me That I was better off dead, I knew it from the start I was never any good to anyone, You can believe it When im not here tomorrow, Today I find something great Today I find a Healthy Affliction.
I wrote the list upon my hand, because I was wont to forget. Memory was always a weakness, since birth I assume. I had since then learnt to cope. Would it rain? I wasn't sure, but I would be ready if it did. "Ready to go?" I heard a voice. I nodded, we were probably already late. It was dark outside, raining. The blacktop shimmered with the small bit of dwindling light that escaped through the clouds. The day was early but the day already felt long, characteristic of the gloomy weather. I opened the door, however, to sunlight beaming in my front door. "Great! Looks like it cleared up outside!" but all I could hear was the ocean. The noise of waves tossing themselves on the shore was overwhelming, their loudness filling the air. "Are you alright?" I snapped back into reality. I assured myself I was fine, just lost in thought as usual. I tried to make myself more comfortable by focusing on the inviting weather, although I was visibly nervous. I felt like something bad was going to happen. My foot stepped to the concrete, bending the leather of my shoes and causing them to crease. We walk beside one another in a peaceful silence toward the bus stop, eyes trained on the puddles of the sidewalk. My foot lifted for another step and as it comes back down to reach the water, I felt a wind rush past. I looked up, and I found myself all alone. Once again, I felt the rain upon my face.
Do thickets see steeples, or are people the thickets? If writers are thick headed, Writing of Peter Pans' pigs, Who visits? Bull, riches, seer, man, Write a list upon my hand, So that my plot, it thickens. What is time spent living: Divine or perspective driven? Plate spinner, of your illusion, Place your spins upon their back. Bull, chickens, and feelings lack, Who takes from hands of other hen? Who take the hands of other hen, Who take the land of wary men, Who lost to men, More suspicious then. What is it all about: Defense, or Pence, To what extent do I extend, What is strength?
Asparagus, are you aspirant plus, A spare, or pair of gloves, Au Pair, in a pear of groves, As parallel was, as it will grow, Outrageous, as pairs will go. Beans of green fielded, ate, All the others upon my plate, Clean, of childish readings. Late, all the others, Plate clean of childish things, Like television and admirings.
Walk ambles beyond, Talk stumbles upon, To write another poem, Ideas like a fawn. Appealing siren song, My pen misguided, My Ken to Barbie, A life, component plastic, Abdomen firm, mind naught, Opponent, you cage her, For I cannot.
Lately, I write universal, Rody Walker disapproves: "I see through you, Ethereal, feigning too close, To touch a virtue. Oh, feeling, careening mostly, Posts passing, tongue lashings, More dashing, floor, gas pedal, More dashing, more dashing, One says, like a clause." Platinum ring, yet, Heart diamond, set. What's happening, please, Forget my misdeeds, luck, A hat in a ring, belts, One generation fights back, Another fights against. Poetry succinct, mispelled, Written on cocktail napkins, Waitress dismayed and going, Thrown to a well indistinct, Dreams worth more than coins, More than love or poinsettias, Less two roses that grow together. At least, If I throw my feelings, Into the well they drink, One day they will think of me. Although, If I know I'm leaving, Into the well I go, no warning, or unthinking. Tomorrow, If I am untoward, Bloated upon our meeting, Give me shelter from the storm. Or at least a greeting.
I have a shelf of books, all ashes. My most disastrous, Poetically immaculate. Writing of real life intangibles, Kissing a boy by the shore, While the crowd screams more. That's the 21st century, man, Progress a little beyond books of ash, Paper plates and cheques for cash, Beyond are spaceship parts beneath trash. If Etan must, they probably may have done, So if May is upon, another spring comes, Against a flower one cannot lean butt, Especially with the shadow cast cut across. Don't show up at the poetry contest, Rhetoric political, ignorant, floral, passe, Or expect they place you last, lame, fake.
My belly white, tattoo skin black. World external floating my inlet facts. Arms extended, hurled outward to any man, At least stolen by chance; At last romance. Of snakebites, stated minds, Or nothing. The badger writes. Science though he knows nothing of, Only fighting and dénouemen love, Fakery and the image source he knows, Yet facts alas in the seeds he sews, Spits on the dirt, who, He walks upon with shoes.
First there is clay No meaning to a name Strangers will pray Friends prey on their loved ones Some things will change Some feelings can last days Some people say Sometimes it's the rainfall Feet upon the asphalt Back making friends Now who gives their own heart? Hatred instead
Letters written of nonsense, Inner conflicts, profits, Constantine of outfits, Proud of their holes. Opposite, of continents, Sinkholes, swallowing, Mere weathering problems, All they do is disclose. Imagine a world insolvent, Overpopulated and cold, Where fistfuls of dollars, Are better off. Plastic like the ocean, Poetic hopeful, Scotland. Politically motivated, Heart emplaced. However honest, lies of fate, One defends an idea flagrant, Upon a hill of nothing sacred, Fairness being the continent. Unless one wishes a life content, In a country of many ferrets.
Amateur poet, ultimate, Heroic, stoic, slowest, Everything rhymed about, Hopeful of inchoate. Chum of the lake, think, Who is the wake for? Dead men living pale, or those living, Mouth agape, ailing, Flailing their limbs, Scene akimbo, Fare unanswered, Meter fake. So they take what is mine, Question pondered, What is life plastered? Humanity mastered, Time honored, or is it a last laugh, before dying afterward? Poets lie yet find alms, Measured footsteps bald, Words lifelessly clever, Heart hard to hold palm; Old arms to old arms, Adages stolen loved upon; Bard holy, arch golden, To carve lonely, Barns beholden, Nothing nobel. Par normally, like poultry, To starve colts. Ark art, Swan gone, Dark garb, lark fawned, Opposite of his mind, He finds laughter, Chapter after chatter, Chancellor gone; He defines pattern, An afterthought.
Amateur poet, ultimate, Heroic, stoic, slowest, Everything rhymed about, Hopeful of inchoate. Chum of the lake, think, Who is the wake for? Dead men living pale, or those living, Mouth agape, ailing, Flailing their limbs, Scene akimbo, Fare unanswered, Meter fake. So they take what is mine, Question pondered, What is life plastered? Humanity mastered, Time honored, or is it a last laugh, before dying afterward? Poets lie yet find alms, Measured footsteps bald, Words lifelessly clever, Heart hard to hold palm; Old arms to old arms, Adages stolen loved upon; Bard holy, arch golden, To carve lonely, Barns beholden, Nothing nobel. Par normally, like poultry, To starve colts, Farms wholesome.
Traversing the forest, Lakelands' Adonis denies support, A life abridged, lies purported, Rhymes dismissive, Current from shore; Spies thwarted, imported, Assorted, awarded, Escorted, extorted, Aborted, recorded; Rewarded as kings, Buried like swords. Verse, chorus, He is upon us, Life no more warm; Files, less security, Flies less than before.
Pond upon oceans, A death of water, Little men upon thrones, Their hearts of flower, My life but a tome, My life a tower; Stairs to climb, With life inactive; Above the clouds, Time spent sunburnt, Cowards; My designs immaculate, Eating flies as flax, Confusing images, In place of facts. Again the future lost, Pipes accost the ground, The ice storm comes; Some go into town, Some stay lost, Together same, Both die apart.
No honor or Bravery, Mulled over too long, Followers betray, Feelings astray amongst. Lay waste upon their pores; Their universe stainless, Faces like rust; No steel to steel, No virtue of thievery, To steal regardless; Complacence unjust;
Materialism shoddy, Outlook potty, In a world of rocks, I wish for a mouth chalky, Ground filled with chalk. Curve my bell aptly, Lord of the shinebox, Grant me world gaudy, Ending with gold trim, Upon a golden hem, Golden sheets, golden beds. Golden nails, Golden boards Golden floors. Wife scenic, Life ironic, Post Modernism.