too much alonewe live for days off,too much alone in Free Verse More Like This
days away -
we earn our keep,
keep the peace,
one piece at a time.
we work for freedom from work.
find nothing is free,
not clean air,
not even freedom.
we eat to live,
not to eat,
wish not to be eaten,
we pay for walls and a floor,
for locks on a door -
for falsified news,
for calsified views.
we, who do all the work,
are thankful -
for what good there is, and
give what we can.
they, who profit from our work,
show little thanksgiving -
that they can't keep it all.
we treat each other formal.
we wonder what is normal.
we know -
this is NOT it!
llp - dec2010 - dA
earthly mattersexistence is a shoreearthly matters in Free Verse More Like This
we arrive to/depart from
everything interweaves here
waves rumble and break
grinding, eroding, wearing
bring life, growth, death
synergy and symbiosis
drifting up and sifting down
this planet, and we, so evolve
llp - jan2012 - dA
we might evolvewhen self delusions obscure the world,we might evolve in Free Verse More Like This
we lack free will for matters at hand.
queries can part those gossamer veils,
curtail the bias of pseudo perception.
don't simply say, "i believe this!";
ask oneself, "why do I?".
begin the cure with curiousity,
learn the freedom of free will.
without questions, there won't be truth;
without truth, we don't own ourselves;
'blind reactions to life' - surreal,
acquiring answers, allows the real.
to introspect is the magic grail;
llp - jan2011 - dA
the firing of CEOsit is said that self deceptionthe firing of CEOs in Free Verse More Like This
means much stressful mental rust.
large leaders self deceive the most -
subconscious chars their inner toast.
someday they must
consider the heat
from calories burned -
first to ashes,
then to dust.
so, as their minds incinerate,
their children's children know them not,
except as driven men of fate -
distracted lives; their lies are hot.
there is no bird of Phoenix arising
from their ashes - not surprising.
llp - sep2010 - dA
a qualification upon durationdeatha qualification upon duration in Free Verse More Like This
always a wraith
sometime to loom - then bloom
not a black rose
merely what opens
someday shall close
there is a pact
writ upon birth
signed by first breath
to greet with grace
accept with respect
'you are' is not just
'you're not' is a must -
resiliency given thee
some 'times' might seem heavenly
so long it may last - but
let endings be fast...
llp - oct2010 - dA
meaning, hmmmm...perhaps we each are requiredmeaning, hmmmm... in Free Verse More Like This
to acquire meaning in our lives,
sans interfering with the meaning
however long it takes,
if we give up, or die
before attaining meaning -
...sounds fair to me.
are you meaning
to give meaning
to your life?
llp - sep2010 - dA
what we search for, and findthere is one facet of the mind,what we search for, and find in Free Verse More Like This
gened and memed, [some say designed],
there, in all essential norms,
to seek beauty in all forms.
mundane, or the most unique,
there are no rules
for what may speak
to this internal need of ours.
all natural or man-made,
unrestrained or strictly framed,
dissimmetry or symmetry,
may devastate or mystify.
colours of great vibrancy,
or subtlety of gentle hues,
blends of yellows, reds, blues
captivate us, capture eyes.
the thing which most inspires,
is US 'in all our glory',
fascination of our bodies,
faces, actions - tells our story.
underlying bone and sinew,
muscle, skin, eyes and hair,
somehow so compelling,
secrets of the cosmos to compare.
they who would depict these things,
we should treat like queens and kings.
we eat to keep our bellies full;
they provide nutrition for the soul.
llp - jul2010 - dA
this person's lifesix of us kids,this person's life in Free Verse More Like This
three of us gone,
dad in 1951.
mom lingered on
years too long.
i'm the agnostic one.
so i sit here trying to justify,
though it all remains a mystery -
as one by one,
we'll all be done.
what remains of me
will be just some poems?
is this the meaning of life?
llp - aug2010 - dA
suicide by all meansnicotine, tarssuicide by all means in Free Verse More Like This
and poison smokes
commit distant self murder.
we sadly see sorry tales rise
in the smoldering wake.
he's awake, at his own prolonged wake;
so far, it lasts forever.
there's only one probable exit;
not yet - in time,
the when and how
will reveal themselves,
it shall be explained:
no one should grieve.
oh, they may be sad on departure,
yet a tad glad that,
as was late habit,
he did the right thing.
a hint will be spilled in his will,
does not ravage.
its endless life sentence sums worse,
even, than un-conceived cancer,
apt dancing far off in 'the future',
more likely 'the never',
if he has his way.
and, we all know,
he'll have his way,
so he thinks.
robbed by the random,
though paupers for always,
appear truly wealthy,
pride being the magical mask.
some claim all is false.
in this case truth crouches,
at a losshave you, like i,at a loss in Philosophical More Like This
used up too many words?
has inspiration slipped away,
no verbal thrift
to gift that rainy day?
where look to find
a case to plead,
the field to harvest
this is not selfishness
our souls require release,
crave space to play.
llp - may'10 - dA
radiant childwho painted yourradiant child in Free Verse More Like This
shades which haunt
while they still live
who set your place
with empty plate
at the Odeon
perched on Mulholland
to prophesy to
cry your death
over fading California
to inject those tropic
and (never) wake
as the meridian
the lost can sing
the history we bleed
on city streets
the same old
same - oh
and plaster your name
while angels weep
and color shrieks
why oh Wyominga bright whitewhy oh Wyoming in Free Verse More Like This
in the snowblind
of god's former
and he whispered
of slow death
of the fading
of a self
in the murmurs
at the dawn
at the taste
the hollow shape
the bullet makes
a kind concession
this shedding skin
every holy wound
scrapes to make
in all this
we have made
'tis the seasonanother december's defeated me'tis the season in Free Verse More Like This
one more winter
to the ghosts
who keep leaving me
choking on hope
'til I'm hoping
they'll leave me be
'round my bony tree
forced to flee
a certain we
surely she loves
but her I's
keep deceiving me
as snow melt
as they appear
when the numbers
have no meaning
about the year
if a tree falls in...a fenceless gardenif a tree falls in... in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
defenseless and unguarded
she watches you grow
Dr. Moses recommends...life is aDr. Moses recommends... in Free Verse More Like This
film is a
thought is a
ghost is a
time is a
loss is a
the greatest show on earthlast night, I glimpsed a great white egg,the greatest show on earth in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
in the dark behind my eyelids. it was being
broken open by a dull, green beer bottle. out
poked the snout of a drunk, under-age Tyrannosaurus
Rex. he spoke in a spray of tiny bubbles.
"I've decided that 'The Kensington Landlord' is
a hilarious title for a fake, black & white, British,
horror film. at first, I didn't know if it was hilarious
or if it was only funny to me. then, I realized they meant
exactly the same thing."
"back in the 1940s, Webby was a tough, bright yellow,
baby duckling who wore a faded brown cabbie hat. he
took no nonsense. he ruffled a lot of feathers
...things are different now."
"it is unusual for a panda and a lion to go out on
a blind date. however, it is more unusual for them
to hit it off over a few drinks - only to discover
they share a close family relation, make identical
flimsy excuses for sudden departure, and leave
the bar, awkward & ashamed."
"in a fight between a giant squid & an angry cow,
location is everyt
the truthIt's simple to be confused by every day.the truth in Free Verse More Like This
At the present time,
I am enthralled by everyone -
and no one.
I wear my heart on my sleeve,
but it doesn't compliment
on my shoulder.
I take each of these words
and try to wrap them up
only to come off
I will get taken at face value.
I will get taken advantage of.
I will eventually get taken away.
The only time I can remember
being in the subway
I was on my way
to see a building
full of memories
to the dead.
Somehow, that seems fitting.
endless endingswellendless endings in Free Verse More Like This
the spark took a twist
scissor-spit from her lips
a subtle shift and infinite
is simply split into bits
you're spinning sick
sinking quick and unmissed
every cheap trick unveiled
now scratched from your list
but that itch
it still persists
perching there on your wrist
sits downsleeve from your heart
or what's left of it
and what's this?
love's laid to rest
without a proper obit
transmit to your wits
that demands you submit
is a doubt
the charred remains
of a fire once lit
the gift that keeps ungivingher dark artsthe gift that keeps ungiving in Free Verse More Like This
and pale arms
lunar tics these
half-witted quips and
verbal cheap tricks my
seems she sees
this mess as
want to be
not the oft
un- or sub-
and dashed hopes
of dusk and
sparks & signs
of possible light
of passable life
of that one last
at getting it
FragmentationThey sent the figments away soFragmentation in Free Verse More Like This
I could see the leftover everything
Under that homeThere, I could write at phantoms.Under that home in Free Verse More Like This
The eyes in which I reflected,
were a meaning to tie trying to.
When I believe that there is
only one, words all fail.
There, the bleeding of ink
was a shimmering. Something seen,
something to be consumed,
to prove myself corporeal.
Sounds of her selfThe pantry is quite empty, so I decide that I'm going to head off to the store today, rather than thurs-Sounds of her self in Short Stories More Like This
(Ingrained my mind, deep whispers;
myself at ten, and I'm
with my mother, moving about; slow feet;
slow thought; slow, listless lungs breathe
in--through the nose--the scent of
cabbage, carrots, cardboard and meat kept
bloody; draining red through foam, black
plates; Every day Thursday these are the
sites; the things I see, the things
that might tell me that my stomach
is empty and my home is running
low on the fuel that runs it-)
day. This is a bit of a break from the usual routine, but such things are somewhat arbitrary, and I remind myself that total order is impossible. It's not like I have the ability to control everything.
I find the shrill voice of hunger i
piercingSome terribly tasty tongue-stud;piercing in Free Verse More Like This
some word caught up in that mouth;
Say it like you mean to mean it,
or at least sound out some phonetic synonym
so I can half-believe the fact in doubt
Fragments 1I was perched, vigilant, and loudlyFragments 1 in Free Verse More Like This
commenting on a political idea I'd
vaguely heard about somewhere.
I'd been alive in the sense of the
intoxication since 3 o'clock that very
afternoon. The sweat was a
second skin, one that filled the
wide pores on my face. My tongue
was dragging across everyone's ears.
They smiled; Vaguely carnivorous. For
the first time, my legs slid in through
the pavement, and I disappeared for
6 years. Angelic for the sake of flow.
I enjoy her companyGiven her experience beingI enjoy her company in Free Verse More Like This
I'd like her to design me
that won't complain
Simple, reallyI eat food for the sameSimple, really in Free Verse More Like This
reason I take compliments:
To keep moving.
A nice walkWhen the plaid umbrella shirks the rain,A nice walk in Free Verse More Like This
it drools along in streams around
the figure upholding the fabric shield;
it sits as water spreads around
and we all know not to drown yourself
when the tide only rises to your shoes;
though it's hard to remember such a fact
when all you have to protect yourself
is a swath of cloth with a pole
Disco lights lights lightsWhen you gatherDisco lights lights lights in Free Verse More Like This
Wire spun together,
The barbs are less
Like they're going
To hurt, and
More like they're
There for each other
skywritingThey say that in the ancient daysskywriting in Free Verse More Like This
writing on sky was commonly done
And yet in these old modern times
we no longer write, but simply haze.
pale moonshine lustre lost in dullest grey
how I wish that we descendents
had still some beautiful words to say
to write within
the untouchable sky
smilingLeaves are most beautiful on the treessmiling in Free Verse More Like This
Autumn's fallen brilliance of dead reds
remind the primate eye
that show upon the tree
in its season of living green
In the season of dying
the forecast shadow of lack
our need fools us with colours of joy
It is a time of self-deceit
Smiling I dream of spring
mad hatterI took a bath in mercurymad hatter in Free Verse More Like This
on the line of sun and shadow
And then I showered silvery
It was so cosmic
so amusing and so cool and hot
So after that
I sipped some tea
with all my bunny friends
We did billions of impossible things before dinner
and it was not just good but wonderful
I am so happy
and quite non-sane
birthdayIt's someone's birthday somewherebirthday in Free Verse More Like This
Someone who once mattered
and somehow someway still seems to do
I dreamed of them last night
My mind somehow remembered what day was coming
Even while 'I' was asleep
Decades dimmed in memory
while what was old seemed new
Together across the room
as always was and so remained
that idolised perfection
never touched but always felt
Together we walked
for the best of years
me and my best friend
riprip off the clothes and bandagesrip in Free Verse More Like This
there you are
you and all your scars
let us see you
you have lived
you have lived
thank your good luck
you fortunate one
so many never got the chance
or took it if they did
thank your good luck
you fortunate one
DAmn Dame FortuneOur thoughts are just the smoke of burned opportunities and actions.DAmn Dame Fortune in Free Verse More Like This
Never to be reversed.
Ashes large or smoke small.
Rising in volcano wind,
shadowing the earth
shadowing our life
sunless I remain this day
sunless I remain
angle of incidentsI never look in the mirrorangle of incidents in Free Verse More Like This
I'm uncomfortable with strangers
The me I was
just doesn't know
that man who's looking back at me
interfaceslooking upinterfaces in Free Verse More Like This
i see the light
it coruscates and ripples
the arc of the sky
i came up from the dark just to see this
and to see if i could rise past sky to fabled Heaven
i'm close now
i see a wonder
my reflection above me
descending from the clouds
am i already there
reaching up, my fingers approach my fingers
i seem to be looking down on the me above me
what is this wonder?
i rise through the skin of the sky
my arm and my head have slipped above
the me above me disappears
i cannot breathe
i thrust upward but cannot stay
i fall back into my world
my head i push through the Heaven skin again
such marvels i see
such delicate currents caress my face
but i can
stone heads above the deadgraveyard is the Moonstone heads above the dead in Free Verse More Like This
full and empty of bacteria that might have been
of wanderers wise
of wandering fools
how well that idiot poet of an ancient time has said
dust to dust
credit he assigned to the wrong being
and yet he spoke the truth
it is our end and our beginning
our eternal youth
moonflower kimonoMoonflower kimono sworddancing in sunlit forestmoonflower kimono in Other More Like This
insomniac Malay owl savages a vole and swallows it wholeheartedly
then roosts on stone. Talons penetrate stone and moonflower kimono watches it bleed
carpetleaves flutter and fly in breeze of cold pink stained moonflower breath
the sword is still the dancer not dancing the moon the moon is bright and chill over black trees in the night
and kimono moonflower kimono walks slowly on the bloodleaves feathered peregrine in silver wings moonflowered kimono drops away and flies all steel-edged and multi-layered like a god of nature conjecturally cutting through illusions and putting them back together in gyrfalcon daisy patterns of sunlight on a kimono in a garden by the water in the water of the water of moonflowers.
2007 November 9 and totally freespeedverse by Lancelot Price
House of Good SenseI want crawl insideHouse of Good Sense in Free Verse More Like This
a cleft in your
& live among people
who don't know
under typewritten words
the print mistakes
the white page,
my passion diffused.
In a world of
like the static on
the Hollywood sign,
I could be small
I wouldn't shake
from the lapse
I could be
the future inside
like film screens.
Room 310For a dayRoom 310 in Free Verse More Like This
from the grey lightning
of the winter sun
to the comfortable pillow of sunset
I hid in the closet.
I held my back to the door
like a raft in the Bermuda Triangle
the clothing swaying
like the ghosts of the lost
over my head.
There were no provisions to take
just a sickened mind
too ill for reason or communion.
I harvested the darkness
into little jars behind my teeth & eyes
until it started a moth's transformation.
It morphed into childish, horrific shapes
a knife for cleaving my bitter adolescent bones,
a straw scarecrow with hallowed out eyes
like a self-portrait.
The menagerie of my hallucinations
crossed above the light switch,
around the magazine clippings
of every beauty I wished to be
a caravan of tricks
killing the deaf-mute parts of myself.
I watched the slit of burning light under the door
shuffling shadow puppet feet,
listened to the silence
only days of insomnia can bring
& emerged into a dark room
my mouth metallic
Lost NightsIn the headlightsLost Nights in Free Verse More Like This
your hips are battleships
the ball & chain
of our sleeping pills
lodged in our throats.
My fingers are ripped
by your artillery &
I wrap myself in
walk along the edge
two inches of concrete
keeping us from
spraining our minds.
The cars on the highway
pass in light trails
The canaries of
your hands wave
singing, dying off
You don't know
the meaning of
twenty weeks of
holding your hands
between your thighs
I know it well.
the water stings
the laughter in
I love you
holds us like a rope
& the balance of
science & poetry
becomes a safety net.
A LetterDear god,A Letter in Free Verse More Like This
why do I have to be
when I'm feeling small
as an ion?
Is there something
a clue to my key's
The boiler room door
is always locked.
How do women
grow a life
like a new piece
or penicillin in
the miracle of pregnancy
All that kicking would
into taking a hatchet
to my neck
thinking I have tapeworms.
Why do I have to have
a reason to be miserable
my natural motivation
to make it through this
labyrinth you created?
There are too many
to be happy.
I feel like
I ask too much
& your ears are
already flooded with laments
are they like cotton balls
& now you cannot talk
when I call?
It's Safer at the BottomI'm watching cities bloomIt's Safer at the Bottom in Free Verse More Like This
in the cradles of cranes
or maybe June.
on the alcoholic's night,
thinking of touching
with a pinwheel
made of glass
or wanting slow motion
when all I get
is fast forward.
Maybe every cell
inside me has
its own self
separating inside me
until I'm just a frenzy
of shark cells trying
to eat me alive.
The buildings are
every time I try
to fall asleep.
I hear the shrieking
of train brakes
in the pitch,
maybe its all been
traded for contained
sunlight or atoms
to a beat to light
There is too much
to a night
more than I can bear.
Thursday comes & I'm
lifting the roof off
Maybe I'm just
trying to escape
night is black
as the bottom of
a well where
I have wept.
Someone Has to DieIt's been yearsSomeone Has to Die in Free Verse More Like This
since the gravel
ate your face
and my chest
The vertigo of
pills and fresh flowers
sewed its mystery
as you taught yourself
wings too small
to hold air,
bones not hollowed,
and I cried
down ten flights
on the pavement.
You burned yourself
left a black stain
in the form of
and buried them
lightning frazzled bones-
of the earth's hours
turned up tenfold.
An Hour AheadI tell timeAn Hour Ahead in Concrete Poetry More Like This
by the ribbons
through the shutters
the lines they take
around the room
like a road trip,
by the woman
on her cigarette break
cutting spherical patterns
into the pavement
& by the clock
waiting by my bed
like a lone soldier
the flashing glint
of his armor
keeping watch over
1950You were a housewife1950 in Free Verse More Like This
dancing along with the radio
skirt fluttering like hands
to the popular songs
as I sulked with Billie Holiday
in my domestic prison cell
waiting for another night
of half-sleep & candy pills.
You were enthralled
with arranging flowers,
cooking dead meat
& I looked at them both
as cadavers coming back
to haunt me.
Your husband came home
to a pot roast & cocktail
while mine only received me
drowning in vodka & expectations.
The boulder of
trying to win at something
I was never prepared for.
There is an art to creating a home
that you've mastered
I floundered along
with thick limbs
& a wish to run off to Paris
& pretend there was nothing to life
but words & movies projected in the sky.
A good wife is made from recipes,
fresh perfume & a need for complacency
my cloth is cut with birds singing in Greek,
stale cigarette smoke
& bouts of ennui
punishing myself nightly
with searching for blind spots
& finding none.
While you were practicing pe
A Birthday SongToday I was meantA Birthday Song in Free Verse More Like This
to be in your home
you blowing out candles
squeezing your branches
I was to be
in your bed,
holding the dinner bell
of your laughter
in my palm
& petting you like
an endangered species
or jungle-born dove.
I fell in love with
driving all night
alone with the scent
of midnight freedom
& breathing it like
I would have cracked
down the side
like an ancient Roman pillar.
my feet are so cold
they feel wet
reminding me we were
going to stand beside
hands grazing like
in the hallway,
lips touching with
I wonder about the facts
of positive thinking
& if we'll change,
but mostly I think about
being absent from you
& how it's like missing
the inherent sadness
in not seeing something
She was BeautifulWe have a daughterShe was Beautiful in Free Verse More Like This
quiet with little fuss
& molding us as god.
Her small verbs
span indifferent cities,
aloof mountain ranges,
& the hours of
blank faced clocks
She knows there are
worse things than dark
the black waters of the mind
We have created her
pressed & dried bouquets
& willow sticks
things only we
could make a life from.
One day we'll wake up
as different people
but the magic
of a shared procreation
will keep us tied
wanting to see each other's
newly patchworked faces.
We have a daughter
holding our hands together
& keeping the spaces & cracks
from collapsing our lives.
I've taken you for granted.Momma,I've taken you for granted. in Short Stories More Like This
I couldn't fall asleep last night. As my hands wandered aimlessly over the wrinkled topography of my bed sheets, my fingers drunkenly ambled their way into the crevice at the head of my bed, and I pretended that your dream spirit was there. I took your transparent glimmer of a hand, and I whispered to you. I said, "I miss you. Although I've fallen in love with the frozen wasteland surrounding me, the familiar memory of your warmth is fading, and my first goal upon getting home will be to throw my arms around your shoulders."
I talked about how I wish I could have known you as a teenager, young and spunky and beautiful as the butterflies that flit though our backyard, the butterflies you're so very fond of. I imagine you in tattered jean overalls, a "country girl" with hair as golden as the sun-soaked wheat you'd help your father harvest every summer. You'd have two brothers, but you'd have more balls than the two of them put together and then some, and you'd work just as hard as
Winter Shades of GreyBrown eyes,Winter Shades of Grey in Free Verse More Like This
(dirt peeking through
the diamond quarry
a smile creeping
like a wild vine
into the corners of your cheeks.
Your blue whisper-lips
make me thinkpaint
covered in frost
yellow walls and coats on the rack...
...a grey winter morning
The Scariest Thing of AllThe world hits the mute buttonThe Scariest Thing of All in Free Verse More Like This
so I can clearly hear
though the air, fireworks.
The world hits the mute button
so I can clearly feel
the organic emotion
in rehearsed cries
through the air, cold rain and sunlight.
The world hits the mute button
so I can clearly grow
in a fearless sporadic
through the air, whirlwind.
The world hits the mute button
so I can clearly deduce
in steel harmony
through the air, gold and old wood.
The world hits my mute button
so it can clearly state
in sour wavelengths
through the air, bitter green.
The spotlight wears an "Out Of Order" sign.
Freedom(Open-mindedness is not a power.)Freedom in Philosophical More Like This
Hold up your hand.
Straighten it and make a fist. That arm is a solid structure, a column of cells, a staff.
It's simply a cylinder, and that is all.
(Open mindedness is not a force.)
Go up to a trashcan, place your hands on its side, and shove as hard as you can.
Try it. Watch the trashcan fly, its lid clanging open and its guts spilling over the pavement.
You did that. Notice the veins bulging from your arms.
Do you feel at peace?
(Open-mindedness is not a form of knowledge.)
These I know to be true: the sky is blue, blood is red, and the Earth is round.
"Do you deny sunsets, then? Do you expect only oxygen, and disregard calculus?"
i dont want to be wrong, its embarrassing
Now go outside.
Imagine yourself immersed in sky, wrapped in the great blue blanket.
There are thousands of clouds above you, some heavy with rain and others bursting with sunshine, and seagulls dip and dive around yo
David FirthThere was a little boy named Sheila. He didn't like the name very much, but it was what his parents gave him in pretty Hanukkah wrapping paper for his third birthday (in June), and he lost the receipt a while ago.David Firth in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sheila lived a few houses down from me, and you would often find us shooting at whatever living things we could find at the park till the sun got bored and fell down behind the ground-pimples.
One day, Sheila got very sick. He went to the hospital, and I visited as soon as I could and came into his room. There was a very old man in a dusty coat stroking Sheila's forehead, but Sheila didn't know him so he asked the man to leave. The man revealed that his name was Death, and he told Sheila it was time to go. Sheila couldn't prove the man wrong, so he got up and left with him.
To this day, I haven't seen Sheila again.
But I have tea with Sheila's tortoise, sometimes. Her name is Thomas. It seems the apple fell closer to the tree than Sheila would have liked to know. Hehe. He.
The Wing/Steel SeagullThe wing is solid, determined.The Wing/Steel Seagull in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It pulses with its own mechanical heartbeat, and I can practically hear it panting,
its metal underbelly clenching in anticipation.
Unnoticed on the surface, of course.
(wish the goddamn sun would shine a little brighter)
We back up like a wind-up racecar, and, predictably, we start to shoot forward into the brisk Cincinnati air. I stare at the wing, feel it grab hold of the winds beginning to kick like a frightened stallion, feel the steel rumble with feral intensity, unwavering, poker-faced. Yet, I can see that smile in the curve of the wing, that glint of adrenaline reflected as a diamond of sunshine in my eyes.
And as the steel crescent beside me grunts with ecstasy of the hunt, we
our roller-skate feet, leaping onto the back of the great Animal that the wing has so effortlessly tamed.
I swear to you, there's a lake in the sky. There's a great white iceberg that traps his reflection beneath an infinite sheet of waterglass, and when y
RousseauBeautyRousseau in Free Verse More Like This
Each lies within the other.
All the chaos, the unintentional perfection that
like the toss of your hand, like the breath in our lungs
(pink as Spring's breast---cherry blossoms)
Every scab on my face yields new skin,
velvet baby flesh awaiting the weight of brown pigment and the day's dust,
the gold bounty of the sun,
but each scab on my face is violet
like the night
and red as the open-mouthed, glorious wounds of the horizon;
red as the dragonfly's wing.
In everything that is,
there is a dormant, inherent beauty,
just as we inherently love all that we consider to be beautiful.
Ugliness thrives like jagged-toothed
bottom feeders in the hearts of misanthropes;
those that shut their eyes
A Broken Neon BulbSleepless nightsA Broken Neon Bulb in Free Verse More Like This
clicking frantically for water:
My seed yearns for a clue,
an answer for its
wordless, impossible question.
Will these efforts
Or will the tired branches
of this new, this oh-so new
shrivel with premature age
before they can
How many circles will I turn
before my leaves
lap up the sun?
And yet, I seek no oracle.
Should I have the choice,
I would take no powers
I am frightened.
What will become of me?
what will I become?
Should I Call a Priest?It's almost comical,Should I Call a Priest? in Free Verse More Like This
I HATE MYSELF I HATE MY LIFE I HATE EVERYTHING
the way you take things
WHY AM I EVEN ON THIS EARTH I'M A WASTE OF SPACE
NO DON'T SPANK ME STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP
way out of control.
There's Life In the Dark.The night is our heart,There's Life In the Dark. in Free Verse More Like This
Pulsing with sweet static:
The violet ghost-voice of Norah Jones,
Lamps smoothing out the defined twinkle of the city,
Planes, perfume and incense cloaking the air in smoky desire,
Tall, lanky trees swaying, their sharp fingers tickling the purple sky,
Emerald and tiger's eye,
Shoot the moon.
We're on the move, my bright star.
The Witch's WoodThese woods hold darkly,The Witch's Wood in Free Verse More Like This
lost and asleep, the witch's heart.
These brambles walk slowly inertial,
like honey running through her veins.
The wind chilled spare rows run,
anhydrous and crawling with
an arrow filth and rhyme
deceased upon her pedestal, misplaced,
We walk through the quicksilver sands
and enter the desert, her deserted domain,
where the labyrinth runs for miles
beneath our echoes, and slipping to
A serenaded vertigo on through,
her mind, her heart, her mirrored eyes
trapping the soul into their gaze,
and lets us fall through, lets us hang on to
these cracks. drip.
a liquid identity, bramble struck and stolen,
in the light, in the light, or lack thereof,
and we are locked, lost and asleep,
within and as the witch's heart
to a feral prayer.
The city gets to meThe city gets to me,The city gets to me in Free Verse More Like This
and picks me off of my
concrete holes and
heavily automated sanctuaries;
that whine beneath the weight of my
dismay, of my
Cut me and I'll bleed
yellow bellied american,
pierce me and I'll bleed
fifteen molar love
mixed with smoke trails,
replies, from: beneath a mask
to: chorus, and recourses
through my veins when
But every shape of me
is placed by every shape
of you; that sticks, with
every inhuman hand, some
make sense of divinity
and unsense of hypocritical
Resume, Razum, Resume.
ConditionalSome fine lines,Conditional in Free Verse More Like This
can never be defined,
you've held me close
to(o) far away,
and I'll agree to disagree,
as you lay meandering,
through those mental tones
I wish sometimes,
you'd fit a stone on my shadow,
and I could never (bear to) leave you.
it's a word of power,
turning these ancient trees,
as death whispers,
your three line secrets,
through your dendrite hair,
into my bones.
the problem is
a bird on strings
is just a kite
and (sometimes) they call it an epitome.
To World and Word and ApathyI know it hurts you when I sayTo World and Word and Apathy in Free Verse More Like This
I'm not ever going to be okay
but your words are like stones,
stuck in my heart and growing bones,
making fissures in that stitched up
patch that holds the magical cup
of secret things
that belonged to me.
Greed will drive you to take,
even that which you create,
and I am waiting for you to kill me
while you cross examine my autonomy
and where the story ends
and will, it bends
and keeps bending,
You're parrying, tarrying lies
as you plan out your demise
and crack me open like a coconut
and let the milk fall out till it would shut
--this world is scar tissue,
and we've been avoiding one important issue,
they've been opening,
as we're emptying
Ah Ah Ah Mic TestIt's 8:34. I wake up covered in covered morning light. I don't know where I amAh Ah Ah Mic Test in Philosophical More Like This
but I feel that this should feel very familiar to me, there are bottles strewn
all about and the bed is unmade, I am sleeping on a pile of clothes on a pile
of mattress. The shutters are down, I can't see outside and I think, "this is
all very symbolic".
I think of drifting back to sleep but don't tell myself any stories.
I don't get up until 10:11. This is appropriate. The cradle's too warm, the
world's too cold, I am bored with myself and there is nothing for me here. I
wonder why I stay. The chill doesn't strike me much, even in December this
place never freezes. I walk to the bathroom, my parents' room's door is
closed. My mother works, she is not home, my father does nothing, he is always
at home. The obligatory bathroom is next door. I don't turn on the lights, the
fractured relay of mosaic glass is comforting, mesmerizing. I look in the
mirror and see dreams filter through in recollection of myself an
You Invented MeThere's a structure born on 3^2 23,You Invented Me in Free Verse More Like This
built 28 years tall and growing.
We don't exist,
we just add on like memories,
to a sleeping dream.
and the puppets dream eachother.
messages proclaimed from,
finger smiles and twitch fedoras,
there's a secret
you can grow up,
You used to walk up walls,
walk up walls,
the secret is...
From our dear English Vernacular,
the dear tool,
of a hat maestro,
for the hippocampus.
The question was who,
it was you,
If we're just dreams,
part of the other,
I claim with certainty,
you invented me first.
FacethinI clap, for you, a thumb and finger pieceFacethin in Free Verse More Like This
to match the palm, some measure of
innocence (lost) and experience (shuffled,
bridged, lost), not knowing how to begin
or hardly knowing that I've already begun
(to shuffle my feet) and (bridge my words)
something fierce comes this way over
the both of us (still).
A broken word (stuttering) to express
A broken heart (fluttering) to express
Broken thoughts that mutter a neediness
as I pass by the mirror, (distressing), the
strange treasure map of my face, and tell-tale
landmarks holding still as the coroner traces
out a path to fool's gold; already lauded
prizes to fools (on fool's run).
Kings, Queens, Jacks,
Jokers, spare aces
and empty tins
of many suites,
poker faces (flushing slim
and chartreuse on the table
operated) to street music
that takes you ( afix ) affection
until the next terror, overwhelming.
with all disdain of time and blessing
(of life and love and liberty)
hope is a two colored wordhope is a two colored wordhope is a two colored word in Open More Like This
drenched in the starch of tomorrow
as our smiles fade into neon
in suite with the street signs
leading out of the morgue.
On morrow, life, but for now immortal,
where every angel sharply breaks,
glass, wine, knives and hamlet, oedipal
but for all tragedy revenge had wrought
we, alive, cold and barrenly mortal.
Who speaks of world, who is world?
Do I dream or am I written, dissolutioned,
bold faced and italian on God's journal,
turned over as he writes another chapter
in the history of the created, does he notice?
On the union of my body, fights a civil war,
red and black, ants fighting for a queen mother
never met, never embraced but for their birth,
were I to stop, were they to feast upon me,
were time to drink from me the hours.
and hope is two colored, twice faced, Janusary,
news and expectations, bad dreams, exultations,
someone cries for their mother, the judge waits,
wherefore in legend, stars the host, an army,
I am drowning in the hope of tomorrows.
Mirror Mirroryour fingers roll up into cigarettesMirror Mirror in Free Verse More Like This
your reading my mind, again, dispassionate,
dispatching the voice for a warm caress
of the hand crackling under frostbite.
you have button eyes, black, like your hair, black,
like the coal streets at night rimmed starless, cityless,
sometimes you dream of being me, sometimes I dream,
and sometimes we're, neither of us, reflections.
does your heart beat in deadened silence as does my own,
does it dread the passing of the wind, fearing the news of your death,
do you hear trumpets, cymbals, drums and horses? Harbringers
and Harp, I am brought, Hung, I am harpooned, festooned upon you.
These are the words we never speak,
only stare as the light reflects me on you
and even as the shower curtain closes in
and the dark reflects you onto me.
The rain meets the antpilehow tired the rain beats furrows upon my empty headThe rain meets the antpile in Free Verse More Like This
as daylight twains between two roses highlighting
underlining my name.
and you say we're misinterpreted to be prophets
I thought I was the ladder, and you
sitting there all dressed in red and feather.
there's two, then three, and makes us poor in symmetry,
and kind in kind as the butcher awakens. Awkwardly.
it shone up in
and shone up
and shone when
the blacks grew up.
you said we lacked a symmetry,
you said we were asymetrical, undesgined and I
well I thought I was a scarecrow.
but you scared me.
we wake up the breaks in the day
to call out the mornings and all the
doleful hours of trees on the prairie.
initiates of the voiceless orders
as the voiceless one speaks and the
voiceless, they surrender
the heavier dust from the heavier slips,
rain drove furrows, and tired drove
to rest upon my head, left for dead
and left alive, how simply unclean.
you said we lacked dichotomy and
I'm just glad you t
Snippy - Poem of DoomSnippy - Poem of Doom in Free Verse More Like This
Oh Captain, my Captain! I say it to mock,
You're lucky as hell but to me you're a c***.
Please spare me the missions, I've no head for heights,
Balloons and big lists lead me only to blights.
Evading the probes of an alien race,
Then having to witness your > : ( angry face...
But what choice have I? I'm involved in these fights,
With Cancerous space-monsters full of red sprites,
And Lemonade weirdos and God knows what next,
Just how can you stay so serene and unvexed?
What price should I pay for your simple delights,
Be eaten by whales after soiling my whites?
I know you won't listen, but you'll come unstuck,
And one of these days you'll run right out of luck,
Your empire will fall, and your ego besides,
It's karma for sure, like the turn of the tides,
And then I will lol, sitting in my own muck,
Coz after all this I just won't give a f***.
The MachineOur blood's the steamThe Machine in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
That drives the machine...
O, industrious giant
With shining gears of lead
With which to grind to dust
The unhappy dead
We bow down to you
On bended knee
And make an offering of
Offer our selves
On exquisite platters
Matter over soul
Not mind over matter
Seems our forerunners
Overlooked your need
But we treasure your lust
Strip the fresh virgin
For your perusal
To drown her refusal
Her cries drive the steam
That feeds the machine
And we know just what those
Guttural utterings mean
More fuel for the fire
That kindles the need
More for blood and destruction
And the vices they breed
WindbiteBlissfully biting at my bonesWindbite in Free Verse More Like This
With breath that sings as it stings
Freezing my flesh with fresh tenacity,
The north wind howls its victory
I merely admit my defeat
With face buried
In once-warm terrycloth
Feeling that no loss
Is so keenly felt as heat.
FalteringMy faltering tongue seeksFaltering in Free Verse More Like This
To hold discourse with stars
Whose pale light remains reserved
For shadowy realms of isolation
Pitiful creature that I am
I sigh warmth into the cold mist
And in dream sketch hope
For exodus and return
Scorching flame and salve for burn...
Let me crawl into your skin
And heal you of your ills
With my gaping passion
That's come to feel as though
It encompassed in it all vanity
Inherent in the erring soul...
Let me not be thus tortured
In my wretched solitude
Devoid of my heart-half's missing part
Grown too weak to write much of worth
This is all I can presently muster
For your eye's treat or cause of unease
Or exhaustion of staying open
To wounded lines such as these
That try to care and fail horribly
That try not to and are cut
Off at the source of apathy
That reveal the murky ocean
Through which my mind wades
As if it still slept
...It shall do so soon
And still this sense of loss
And unfulfilled need
Bred from the eternal
Albeit troubled love I bear thee.
StillPassionless rainStill in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Gray as the streets
And unpaved fields
Where willows sleep
No thunder roars
For the encore
That might move the world
From its drowsy
The atmosphere merely breathes
Its trisyllabic masterpiece:
My head feels far too heavy
To be supported by sinew
Tenuous as that which constitutes
Sagging neck and spine
And I long to sleep
The idyllic sleep of grasses
Motionless in that mist
That saps both body and mind.
BrokenYou were beautiful onceBroken in Free Verse More Like This
With bright clear eyes
Of softest blue
There was a time
Some years ago
Where I lounged about
All day with you
A playful smile
Gracing my face
At peace, dear friend
In your embrace
But the skies have darkened
Over our heads
And where laughter broke
There's sorrow instead
A void like a joke
With its punch-line unsaid
What we had is transformed to anger
Just beyond where we sit
It's listening in...
Distrust in its gaze
Malice in its heart
I think your anger
Might tear us apart
SleepwakeMind afloat in a drab sea of graySleepwake in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
That might be the sky,
Quiet suppressor of light
Obscuring even the smallest sign of day
Which strives to blossom
Somewhere beyond my sight
In waking dreams, I drift sleepily
Into the simplest sensations
Layered with meaning and somehow-
Necessary in a way consciousness
Cannot be, excepting its role
In bringing these things to be
A tome, a sword, wise words forgotten
But still trembling vaguely in the
Sweeping corridors of my mind;
The strangeness of real sleep
Merging effortlessly with my present half-wakefulness
Longingly, I reach out my hand to find
Some hidden messenger who will reveal
The truth of these things to me-
Blinded by confusion, excited by illusion
Dreams of Spun GlassDreams of spun glassDreams of Spun Glass in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Through my subdued mind
With the ink of memory
A cerebral tattoo
Refreshed after its inspiration
Was left behind
Or faded or fled
At time's behest
When my truest self requests,
It is entirely mine
Telling a story
Through the light of a smile
Or eyes set on watching
The setting sun
Or, best of all,
An eloquent tongue...
I fear missing the speech
For when I bid one repeat,
The liquid dream will have robbed it
Of its stunning clarity
Would that the glass never stopped spinning
ElasticOne hour andElastic in Open More Like This
Of sixty seconds each
In exhausting opposition
To the speeding plane....
I feel motionless
Elastic time rebounds
Slightly painful as it grapples
With my head
I want to contemplate things
Bend them to my will
Infuse the colors with logic
Lay out the truth
And imagine if things would have
Played out quite as they did
If I was ever really in control...
Now is not the time...
although my truest suspicion
Is sweetly legitimized
By the immutability
Of this text
Pining for PurposePining for purposePining for Purpose in Open More Like This
In the shadowy abyss
Of this existence
Wearied with life's wounds
I only desire peace
To pay a visit
AbsenceYour presence is felt mostAbsence in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Not a moment passes
(Of absolutely no consequence)
Conjures thoughts of you:
Lovely and stark
Making some remark
Sets my mind at ease
Or my soul ablaze
Or pries my heart open
To accept some truth
So many rough smiles
And understanding tears
And needful words
Poured out through the years
Like the persistent lotus
Shrouding us in the
Mystery of the ages
I hardly notice
How much it all means
Until that wretch "unknowing"
Comes whispering to me
All the dark what-ifs
Spiraling through my head
All those things I dare not repeat
I long for reassurance to moderate
My sense of defeat
La Pioggia d'Oggi: A SonnetLa Pioggia D'Oggi e' la Neve di DomaniLa Pioggia d'Oggi: A Sonnet in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The earthy smell of autumn rain
that worms its way within my nose
has come to witness summer's wane
and bring its sorrows to a close.
A Dryad must have sent it here.
She must have heard my tortured pleas
as I lay weeping, on my knees,
and begged the skies to free their tears
and adumbrate my solitude.
Hush. I shall arise, abandon all,
and like Thoreau I'll glean the woods
for scattered remnants of my soul,
until the day l learn and know
how today's rain's tomorrow's snow.
OscillationsGirl, I'd write you a poem.Oscillations in Free Verse More Like This
I'd write about your inflected accent
how it tickles my ossicles
with violent flutters
until the whole damn chamber
clutters with echoes
all the while
my heart's torm-
ented by the silent passion
in your eyes, and I
shrink away from you
like a Gorgon
from a mirror.
But words alone they mean but little,
and are fickle, and verbose;
and the Poem often withers
even faster than the Rose.
Pine Cone: An ElegyIt fell to its death with the softness of a snowflake Pine Cone: An Elegy in Free Verse More Like This
never a whimper; no lingering backache.
I picked it up from its bier of shrivelled leaves
and took it home, away from the winds that brought it to its knees.
Poor pine cone. It had too frail a grip on the real world
the world of winds and fallen leaves and gales that never cared
about the weaker children on the trees, the ones whose grip is frail.
They're the ones who drop off first the ones whose grip slips off like hail.
To the Tarnished MuseThis poem is for you, precious one;To the Tarnished Muse in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
you who've witnessed poetry in your pain.
For you whose flesh is skin and bone,
for you who've sought and sought in vain
the path out of the labyrinth.
This poem is for you, mistress
of imperfect rhyme, sweeper of the floors
of desolation. For you who'd forsake 'mint'
for 'used', who flaunts each blemish on your dress.
For you who go down on all fours
to raise a child you never chose
yourself. For you who're thinking 'overdose',
for you who'll live to see these days renewed:
Precious one, this poem is for you.
Shed your Tatters by the RiverGirl, shed your tatters by the riverShed your Tatters by the River in Free Verse More Like This
but never shed a single tear.
Let them cling on to your sclera
as monsoon droplets to a mirror
and coalesce into the stream
of your translucent dreams -
your own personal
- just beneath your weary lids,
the lake where all your passions feed;
anger, fear, hatred, grief -
let them all simmer and sieve,
undisclosed, beneath your eyes,
'til all your feelings seem to phase
into one relentless sea
of compassionate placidity,
and your pure heart is moved
by stirrings of first love.
Girl, shed your tatters by the river
but never shed a single tear.
The Prayers of the FaithlessBetween one client and the next,The Prayers of the Faithless in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the holy whore would kneel to pray.
She never knew quite what to say
deep in her heart lay a misgiving,
as if the poor girl all but knew
that gods are ointments to subdue
the aching lesions of the living.
A Poet's Visit to the BrothelHe said he wanted to transgressA Poet's Visit to the Brothel in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the boring customs of that place,
and would not ask them to undress
until each one had masked her face.
When asked the reason for this farce,
he said he sought to hone the art
of telling autumn trees apart
by their sep'rate leaflessness.
A Legacy of WisdomYou have scribed your words,A Legacy of Wisdom in Open More Like This
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.
You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, Ill know
that Lears been there before, and
Ill not swoon.
And if Hades doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, Ill recall that
I am not the first Dantes been down
there as well.
And if on my death-bed I mourn
the life I wasted on wine and stale
chocolate bars, Ill recall Wildes words and
hope that, though long in the gutter, I did
glimpse the stars.