SuySuy4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
In that last twinkle of life, that indefinite wrinkle that clouds our senses turns us into saints. And, as a sinner, all I can hope for is youth.
As the hour glass turns inside out I'll stand there laughing at that stupid reflection.
Feckless, but not forlorn I can already smell it fading...
Fading into the singularity of the great nothingness I feared, it becomes silly and I become more and more fond of it.
I know what you'll mean when I can stop listening.
Just stop talking and you'll know too.
That Look In Your Eye...That Look In Your Eye...4 years ago in Open More Like This
Is it your devil
that makes me smile?
Or your frivolous look
shrouded in the open
vespers of my bile?
Toward what ends do you
mean, oh devil, that marks
my departure, your arrival?
April3 HeavyI am butApril3 Heavy4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A heavy oil
That will never dry.
The paint is thick
But my mouth
LostWe aren't ready for this world. This world isn't ready for us.Lost5 years ago in Open More Like This
We turn diamonds into coal and bury it in our own inadequacy.
Tearing down what we have yet to build.
We bite the hand that feeds and spit in the eye of the beholder.
Because no one needs to tell us how disgusting we are.
Suffocating corporations with their own profits
Hanging priest with the same ropes used to tie down whores
Irony is a bitch.
We've become Technicolour shapes in a black and white world.
Beautifully, artistically, gracefully unraveling everything our ancestors tried to make us.
We raise our glasses to our own destruction
Sweet cyanide on the lips of a lost generation
Therapeutic smiles on the faces of dying ideals.
bipolar or in love?i ate lemon cake for breakfast today, well actually it wasn't lemon it was vanilla. not that it really matters what flavour the cake was, only the cake itself mattered. it would be like saying you had jam on toast then freaking out over whether it was strawberry or raspberry. its like having a bad trip on acid, but what's a good trip? if its not losing all of your money gambling over a peanut butter sandwich, when you don't even like peanut butter. or losing your virginity in the back of a limo, to 'wonderwall' by oasis. if its not all of that then, no, i've never had a good trip.bipolar or in love?4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but hey, maybe that's just me.
i'm like a car crash
only slightly sexier
and with a better sense of
there is a humming bird sitting on my window sill
next to my clock which refuses to keep time
but i don't really mind, 'cause who really wants to be on time for anything?
other than your period.
if i were an animal i would like to be a magpie
mainly because i like the reference to pie
WakeDawn brings those golden sunlight-tinted smilesWake4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
seen through misty eyes soaked in sleep
And those first few words,
and spoken through mouths rusty with disuse,
are not forgotten swiftly.
Because in those first few moments,
time is slow
heartbeats are fast
and much can be said
I held the roseI held the rose2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I held the rose and then I heard it ring.
I put it to my ear to take the call.
The bloom was soft but then I felt a thorn.
I'm sure there is a scratch and maybe blood.
Is this how roses are supposed to work?
The Universe and Henry MillerThe Universe and Henry Miller3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
At one point I had gotten it my head to move to Los Angeles and so picked up a copy of the LA Weekly, a magazine I had never before read. The cover story of this particular issue was about Henry Miller, in which Miller is quoted as saying, "If the floodgates of the psyche should open and destroy our society, what harm could there be in that?" I then knew I needed to read Henry Miller, and wanted to do so at the moment, but I didn't have any of his books. I could have gone to the bookstore, but that seemed like too much trouble at the time. Besides, I had plans to meet some friends and I was running late. I forget about Miller and headed down the hill. Literature matters, but life matters more. Living it matters most of all. I later learned that Henry would have probably agreed.
There were two ways up the hill where I lived at the time, a straight steep shot, or a very long switch back. I seldom took the switch back, but that night I couldn't face
No Blues TodayNo Blues Today3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I'm thinking back now, baby,
back to nineteen seventy-four,
and the day that we came walking
up to that old church door.
I was young and you were younger,
both as headstrong as could be.
But we knew what we had come for -
I wanted you, you wanted me.
It was three days after Christmas,
but old Santa could not bring
any gift that made me happy
like sliding on that wedding ring.
The years since then are long, babe,
and they are wide and deep as well.
All the pleasures, all the pains,
I will not attempt to tell.
But two blessings I will mention -
two splendid sons is what I mean.
And we're glad about a grandchild
who will soon be on the scene.
We have had thin ice below us -
sometimes it broke and we went through.
But we know what we are here for,
you still want me and I want you.
So we may be blue tomorrow,
trouble always has a say.
But today we'll keep it waiting -
I say there are no blues today.
ARTIST BIO AND STATEMENTSARTIST BIO AND STATEMENTS3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Born on May 31st 1983 in Reading Pennsylvania, Drew Schermick entered the world destined to endure the tortured existence of an artist. Growing up in Berks County Pennsylvania Drew had little exposure to fine art and music besides his father's vinyl record collection and the early hip hop culture that encapsulated the east coast in the late eighties and early nineties. It was not until 1997 when then 12 year old Drew found himself in the middle of the desert (Arizona) that he first tried his hand at visual art in the form of graffiti. This art form became his obsession and developed through late night aerosol binges, black book trades, and experimentation on paper. His adolescent nomadic journey would lead him briefly back to Pennsylvania, Virginia and New Mexico where he would leave his mark and gain style and influence from all those he encountered. Eventually in 2000 Drew's travels would return full circle back to Arizona. Upon graduating from Re
UnderwearI have every interest in seeing your underwear, and that tells me more than I need to know.Underwear4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Tal vez -2-Tal vez -2-4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Tal vez la cuenta atrás se haya acabado, pero tú luces tan encantador como siempre.
Tu sonrisa, tu esmoquin, tu elegante frac de color noche.
Atractivo, vistoso, arrebatador.
Puede que mañana ya no me despierte el despertador a las siete, ni que vuelva a maldecir por lo bajo su estridente chillido, pero tú lucirás tan encantador como siempre.
El cabello revuelto y descuidado.
Luz de luna atrapada en ellos.
Dulce, amable y confiado.
Quizás ya sea mi última día pisando este suelo, esta calle, esta ciudad. New York sigue indiferente, tras el transcurso de las horas; pero tú luces encantador esta noche.
Ojos azules cuál zafiros.
¿Qué mas puedo pedir?
Quizás sea mi último suspiro, mi último adiós, mi último beso.
Quizás me entregué a tus brazos sin más.
Pero tú seguirás luciendo encantador esta noche.
The irony of poetry and sexShift things around in your head and you're single with skin to skin contact attaching heavy breath.The irony of poetry and sex3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're flexing your body, eyes rolling, jaw lifting there is nothing but increasing pressure on your hips.
The guilt is left inside your chest propelling your heart and jolting adredelaine showing up in your heightened
movements and sinking lungs.
Thoughts are only given the power to let you know it's wrong not the right to connect to your heart
when you have pushed it below the surface. The wrong is what makes it so good too. It's the pressure
on your hips that activates the thrust not the pounding of your pulse or the dividing of your mind
between your id and your superego.
You know nothing but what your body wants you to know and that's what feels good. Shadows are
crawling throughout the room hollowing out cheek bones and hips, you end up thinking it's something
fucking beautiful, when it's just fucking. There is nothing poetic about fucking a body when it's only
a body, there is no
The OrificeLost in the proses of the questions the world posesThe Orifice3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
In the dusk of autumn percipitation
And the unbound relentless frost that forms inside.
Wish to vanquish and make tranquil the greylands
and the high roads
Both in the way of crossing over to the other side.
To believe there is more to the world than fascist order
and join the pacifist side.
Walls of the labyrinth are painted with mud, honey and technicolour dreams
And on the walls there is an Orifice to fill them with stories
Stories we live through, enjoy and endure.
We are intertwined.
We are a Story.