The nature of inspirationWhen was the last timeThe nature of inspiration3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
You heard the word 'erection' in poetry?
I think it was a while back
Between the pages
I mean "humans" don't even play
Or just rise to the thirteen year old tree-house
Inside us all
Where politeness is a foul facade
And we aren't afraid of our fingers.
We prioritise the silhouettes
The way pressing pen into paper
Made us so
And out of
Inspiration isn't a pretty, pristine river...
And it's about time we became
It's about time
We let up
And let it
Burn us up
Turn us on
Turn us up
Our wobbly bits
Into an aphrodisiac
So if there's any P.S.
Poetry can teach you
the word 'erection'.
You(r) Your voice, transcending legatos;You(r)3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Beautiful, calming, melodic,
Your eyes, candle lights;
Bright, kind, benign,
cwe're travelingc3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the speed of light
and we won't stop for nothing
(there are no br(e)akes
in this vehicle called life)
so let's keep going until we can
reach the far edges of the universe
where the blackness seeps into your skin and
you passed the last star a couple thousand
light years ago;
and return home to each other as
old folks who've aged nothing but
gained knowledge of all the
mousetraps of the cosmos
Fireating.Your showcase act,Fireating.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
toes the line between
distance edges closer as her
heart rate stalls.
Your glitz girl,
knows the time it takes to
her balance was performance but she
fell for you.
Let Me Down GentlyI never said I was an angel,Let Me Down Gently3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm a feather on its wing,
so when you let me drift
on the next western current,
let me fall slowly down,
I promise I'll land softly,
though you will not find me
where you left me.
Revolver in a Bag of PuppetsRevolver in a Bag of PuppetsRevolver in a Bag of Puppets4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For Christine Chubbuck
On a fiery July morning
your eyes opened with intention
to involve innocents
in a cold steel plot
detailed on pages
in the bowels of your briefcase
wishes birthed in solitude
no light, no hope
Did your hands shake
as you buttoned your blouse?
Did your coffee
go cold in the cup?
Did your eggs
burn in the pan?
Did you think of the children
watching that day,
as the camera's eye
transmitted your pain live in color?
A thirty-eight caliber Smith and Wesson
drawn from a shopping bag full of puppets
fired behind the right ear
slammed against the desk
Screens faded to black
control panels fell dark
in silent horror
Your final statement
against the sensationalism you detested
through a tempest of permanence
Your sorrow felt
like bombs over paradise
COPYRIGHT 2014, William Barker
All my work has copyrights
with the Library of Congress.
London Bridge is Falling DownIt is one o'clockLondon Bridge is Falling Down3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And I have been playing Jenga
For two years, eight months
Twenty-three days, four hours
And approximately fifteen
I slide books from their slots
One by one, the teetering tower
Becoming more teetering
And less towering.
All the poetry books are gone,
Stored underneath my bed,
Because I love reading them at
Three thirty in the afternoon,
When everyone is doing something
One day the wall of books
Will topple to the ground,
Onto my ashen carpet, for yesterday
The apocalypse had taken place
While I was washing dishes.
I guess I missed it, but luckily
The book tower is still standing,
And it will continue to be there
Until I make a mistake and all of it
Erupts into a shower of finality and fire and
fumesthe talkfumes3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
another notch on the wall. 1.another notch on the wall.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a while now,
a while now has passed
with bruises crying jagged from your voice
and pretty little nicks upon
( tricky partners dancing
within your hands cupped around a flame,
for artists draw and
another curse at the bleeding night
snipping stitches and
weaving nightmares into weary minds.
Hubris.todayHubris.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
than we're ever gonna
i. and we finally did it,
drove to the mountains
and let the mattress
under our love
under the stars
ii. there are things to
iii. my eyes sting like
chlorine, but from
I finally disappointed
the highest order of shame
iv. but you cannot put
people into pockets;
v. and I cannot choose
who I love
vi. your lenses are straight,
elite and proud
mine, open and accumulating
I should run away more often,
we never talk like this
viii. and you have to realise
that I live in a world
that you don't, and you
live in one I
ix. the respect is there,
but I cannot
The Old ManThe old man's wife passed away a few days ago.The Old Man3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He wouldn't like me writing it that waya fan of George Carlin, the thought of 'soft words' tended to make him cringe; he would have preferred 'died' or 'shuffled off her mortal coil.' He said that second one plenty. Every few years now one of his friends shuffles off their mortal coil, and he always says it that way when he finds their name in the obituary. 'I guess Mavis shuffled off her mortal coil. A shame. She had the most wonderful rack as a young woman. Would've married her if I hadn't met Julia.'
The old man wasn't exactly politically correct. Come to think of it, he was a bit of a cantankerous old bastard with every imaginable bigotrythe 'self-hating Jew' routine was something he carried out very well. But with him you could always see the humor in his words. I once watched in awe as he told a joke that had the word 'nigger' in it at least three times to a table full of black men who could remember when they heard that
earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:earth circuit3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
He'd light up the universe.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy
I love his eyes, now
Clouded white like milk from a poisoned tree
And his throat,
Swollen and clotted
And his lips blue as the
I try to get him to laugh but
His body is stuck and
etch-a-sketchhe wrote his suicide note on an etch-a-sketch board.etch-a-sketch4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
elmo-red frame, golden paint drawing out the classy cursive logo, white bottle-cap knobs, and a fake digital screen.
a child's dream.
it took him six hours to revisit his childhood for the last time.
[it didn't take that long because he didn't know what to say, but because he wanted to finally do something right.]
he carefully turned each knob, forming darkened pixels into letters, letters into words, and words into spider-silk-thin sentences that would rip and fade, just as spider webs did.
his words faded a bit when you accidentally knocked it off his dresser so you could take it to the funeral.
faded a bit when you went over that speed bump on the road and the little board bounced around a bit in the car.
faded a bit when you walked over to his open casket and dropped it next to his mortician-treated body.
faded a bit when the mini-crane dropped the casket into the grave just a moment too early, and so the death-box shook like a f
Undressing PoetryShe clothes herself in poetry,Undressing Poetry3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
seals her skin within the verse.
Each line becomes another garment
that conceals her fixed form's curvature,
but peels away when read.
Last night I dissected a stanza,
clamped it tight between my teeth
and tugged it down her legs.
Her body breathes warm and sweet,
speckled red like a summer strawberry field.
I sucked the juice from her lines and
spit the punctuation like seeds.
My lips mouthed the shape of her words
as my skin grew more sticky with
every splash of imagery dripping down my chin.
I peeled apart her soft pages
with sticky, pink fingertips that left them
clinging to my skin.
A single flawless line remained
between the cloak of poetry, her and me,
so we spoke the words in unison,
revealing everything and setting her verse free.
_I want to bind you tightly blue,_3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And give you an experience so ghastly new.
I want to blindfold you softly,
And let that deception grow menacingly cold,
I want to cuff you harshly,
And grab your body so terrifyingly rough,
I want to lick you feverishly,
And feel you desperately all over,
I want to whip you friskily,
And bite you passionately deep,
I want this to satisfy you too,
And I hope this love beautifully ensues.
epitaphin the endepitaph8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i'm almost gone
and all i've left
is a red lamp
and a ragged song
to pave my way
into the thunderstorm
let every raindrop murmur
i loved you and lost
nothing but emptiness
and the company
I Mean to Get You AloneYou have sharpI Mean to Get You Alone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the stuff I imagine heart attacks
are made of
I'm bent on selling you a handful of smiles
to distract you from the fact that
I have almost nothing to say
and now you're steering this conversation
in a direction that suggests you've
forgotten that I
don't watch movies or do much of
anything but work which maybe
explains why one glass of wine gets me
wrapped around you
car to streetlight
breeding curious onlookers and my insurance has
you're leaning in and all I can think is
I don't have insurance
Dear Readeron the roofDear Reader5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sheen after sheen
from buckets of paint;
you do all
with the color
open their mouths
in the rain
spread one wing
and lean out
as the moon
like a coin
in a fist;
peels a lime;
pulls at the door
while the waitress
clears the table.
is making space.
Bits of Nothing 61On paper you're perfect.Bits of Nothing 615 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Isn't it a shame the world isn't made of origami?
Souls and SparklesTo write something that is meaningful to someone else, you must first write something that is meaningful to yourself.Souls and Sparkles3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
There are a thousand rooms in each person's mind, and each mind is a maze because it has been tangled. The hallways are criss-crossing and clumping, like long hair in the wind. Society has made it so.
We all have impure thoughts. Things that would make us "bad", unequal, or imperfect. Thoughts that make us different in gloriously unusual ways. We are born into the world unashamed, but then we are taught the unspoken words. Words that are rules. Words like normal, like good and bad, ugly and pretty. We are taught that if we do not fit the rule of "good", we are bad. We are evil, we are tainted, and so we are unwanted.
So, each of us hides our failures; our shortcomings, even though they are exactly the opposite of such. They are a representation of the uniqueness of each human soul, but unique is "bad", and so we hide. And those impure thoughts are hidden in darke
LingerieEvery woman owns one garmentLingerie3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that remains tucked away,
saved for special occasions
when it will be seen.
It is almost always midnight
black, or blood red, and
covered in lace, or made
of mesh, soft and delicate
as the skin it covers.
Such things should be hidden,
lest the owner be labeled
as something other than "lady."
It has a power we can't
control, one that transforms
denim and cotton clad
ragdolls into Barbies,
perfectly proportioned plastic,
smooth and flawless hourglasses
that turn on command.
We groan and flinch
as satin strings pull us
apart and together,
and heartstrings are plucked
as we scrutinize our reflection;
we are not diamonds
with perfect exteriors--
we are fractured, as we
realize hourglasses can be exchanged
for quartz watches that are
faster, more convenient,
incapable of failure
made by the obsolete.
to myself: past/present/future/fourth dimensionto the girl before speech:to myself: past/present/future/fourth dimension3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are not a prodigy,
despite talent for taking care of yourself.
understanding politics by grade school isn't worth much
being loved is.
having your hand gripped when stumbling.
playful laugh coaxed from your lungs.
bounce as much as you can.
cherish your days of knowing how to land.
to the girl with my fingers:
they aren't as beautiful as they are lost.
shaking; nerves over taken by demons
screaming in the night.
struggling to tear needle away from skin
too crooked to be melodic
not articulate enough to move masses
hoping to find north; seeking direction.
to the girl after healing:
body a battlefield with no monuments,
topographical map of travail.
you have scars;
i am sorry for those.
you've stored love in people
just begging to give it back.
open your mouth; souls speak
yours needs to learn to light up mountains again
to you over there:
i miss you
the way I miss a forgotten memory.
existence is more than physical space.
here i assemble words
How To Ask Someone To Let You Love ThemI think you keep secrets under your skinHow To Ask Someone To Let You Love Them3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like trees keep rings and do not know it,
like the sea teems,
like dark and quiet space
keeps every ray of light
the stars whispered to one another
when they were still young
and dying to make love.
I think you keep secrets in you
like the desert keeps sands,
like sleep keeps dreams,
like cities keep sleepless people
and people looking for sleepless people
to fall asleep with.
I think you keep secrets
like secrets like to be kept,
and I want to learn them all.