I edited a bit, removed a rather lengthy and daunting mess of text that probably shouldn't have been up anyway. Fixed some other poems as I was in the process of renovating my "catalog", so to speak. Perhaps it'll be more enjoyable, but I dunno'. Won't lose any sleep over it, have a nice day.
Here's a link to my Soundcloud. A few spoken word things and a hip-hop song or two, none of the beats are mine.
I also may or may not post some more poetry here, not sure if anyone wants to see that, but I'll start with one, I suppose.
Idle Minded Crimes -
The crimes of the idle minded will not go unpunished.
The presumptuous, the lazy, the consumption, and angry land ladies.
The drunks at sports games, hecklers,
Cops with Kevlar pushing good people to bad choices.
Angry voices that never learned to aim, childish rage, this hedonist plague.
All the linear thinking, numb and dumb from liquor drinking. The rotting.
The stinking. The never-want-to-be-thinking.
It will not go unpunished. Their children will suffer, generations muffled.
It will be subtle as they sink silently, too slow to know a chance of rebuttal.
Last edited by Solemn; 03-04-2013 at 12:51 AM.
I'll bite your heart and tease the strings. I'll whisk your wings and whisper things,
of dreams and seams you've never sown or seen. We'll be in glorious garb, galvanic, impractical, satirical satyrs sating souls in the making. We'll be play things, we'll be martyrs, we'll be husbands, we'll be daughters. We'll be nothing more than nothingness
and nothing less than im-per-fect. Your mind's eye will rule the prime time inside my mind when I find the bridge to burn between us. You should've seen us, we were scenic. I pleaded and prodded and you nodded and choked up and croaked up an answer, some cancer, some chance for more pleading. I'm kneading my knees in the ground that sound is just grating the one you are making your teeth and your sadness. So solemn so perfect so jerked with the wind and just fickle you tickle me pink till I'm raw and my skin's soft, I'd take my skin off, but you wouldn't like what's underneath. I suppose you didn't like what was above either. It's okay, I love you you hate me; no trouble.
Thank you. I left shortly after I posted these and have just recently returned (sorta duh).
- - - Updated - - -
My attention span is waning.
I'm regressing, I am straining.
Good things happen, not complaining.
Just saying, what am I saving?
In fields of paradise, razing.
Plaguing, I am a play thing.
Broken glass mirror, still shaving.
Choking back fear or just scathing
self-hatred, fated; mind is caving.
Elated is vagrant, claustrophobic baying
In and out of craving, raving.
Lunacy soon-to-be turned craven.
Caught on a beach, life isn't waving
astral introspection, meta-planing.
Constraining, aching, fading, shaking
blaming, aging training, splaying
jading thoughts, I'm lost and angry.
Crazy is a cliché, insanity gracing
little bracing spaces pacing
on intricate finger paintings.
My outline is traced or tracing,
no inkling of inking or acing.
Spacing in and out of safety.
Heart doesn't know slow, only racing.
---------------------------------------------------- Chicken Wire Cuts
sovereign freedom held in solemn credence
plague dogs on all pause 'cuz what feeds them
ain't hands, but metal claws; flesh fleeting
labored breathing as best those bolts know how,
so proud of union paid strangulated sounds,
on the grounds of soured prowess loudest laughs drown,
the phoenix birth of diluted self worth,
the grey skies try to wring out ash, futile-y,
brutally the gas mask man made tracks foolishly,
root bookish truths 'cuz winners make the rules,
fruitfully destruction breeds a caution unknown,
global togetherness brought home in a paper bag,
contents thrown in the road when the throne is betrothed,
and the former king of peace is disrobed,
this alien probed sense of dystrophy cold like,
desensitized nurses hands in a mental ward,
nail the bored to a wall and scrawl arrows claiming fault
assault in the insulted wounds like miscarried wombs,
glass people shouldn't stand between a rock and a hard place,
talk with an odd face, but say things loudly, founding,
enough cynical roosts to coop the pigeons up,
only old ones have chicken wire cuts,
they don't even fight the clipped wings,
nothing volatile left to erupt.
---------------------------------------------------- My Home
I've been living in a secluded home
It's at the top of a hill where none dare roam.
The grass is well kept, the windows all washed.
The paint is slightly chipped, from wind's unmitigated slosh.
The yard is empty, save for one tree;
on which, hangs an unused tire swing.
The door is made of steel, lined with many locks.
The foyer is dim, littered with broken clocks.
Unfinished paintings of various landscapes,
await their final touch, leaning against dusty walls; the wood scraped
in angry patterns graffiti'd without pause.
Cob webs collect in most of the rooms.
The sink stacked, waiting a scrub sometime soon.
The dining table set, as if expecting company.
Small spiders dance underneath the chairs, a crawly cacophony.
There is no television set, just piles of unfinished books.
Literature hiding, broken sighing in their nooks.
Upstairs one light remains on, inside the room I stand.
Here, but far gone. The walls are covered in words most won't understand.
Written by me, though I hold naught but memories in my hand.
The other rooms are empty, the basement cold and bleak.
I retire there most often, when I finally grow too weak.
In the attic rests my addictions, ambitions and my pride.
Perhaps one day I'll take a peek inside.
Perhaps one day, too, I might finally have a guest.
Until then I'll sit inside my room, thoughts oozing from my chest.
---------------------------------------------------- Spray Painted
I spray painted pictures of people I've never met in the hopes that someone else would recognize them and be comforted. I speak to new people like old friends in the hopes that I might remind them of someone they haven't spoken to in awhile, then leave me alone to try and rekindle an old friendship. I walk with a slight limp because sometimes my knee gives out and I don't mind looking like a broke pimp; this, of course, might bring a slight sense of entertainment and satisfaction to those onlookers just slightly off-stage. I adjust my glasses when they're perfectly fine in an attempt to see something that isn't there, hoping for a moment I'll find what I'm looking for; I never do. I spend money like I'm not in debt, I smoke like my throat isn't strep, I hope like it isn't dead, I choke like the next won't be a breath, I soak like I am a sponge, I joke like my heart isn't a bobber resting on the crest of a wave, hoping someone will reel it in. I talk softly, think loudly, breathe deeply, spit weakly and smile less and less. You seem like a very lovely person, but I'm too selfish to not be alone; hopefully that can change.
---------------------------------------------------- Stardust Your Shoulders Off
Why now when I decide to write does it feel wrong? Am I not personified song? Am I already long gone, am I death's embrace? "Be still," whispers the face of the angel. From the midsummer mist, bliss breaks boundaries a bounty on a kiss, wanted: Dead or Alive. No simple feeling co-existing in sight or inside or wriggling on the hide; pride knows what I wouldn't give to be a wino. Go where the wine grows, roll in the dirt. Observe the misfires, assume how they work. Fill yourself with hurt, just to shirk off any semblance of savior self in the grave moss. Live slow, die fast, alone with the --
Go watch the hands prance backwards. A glance is what you wash off. Do or do not, there is no open sky for you and I to be alive inside, but for all the times we'd die I'd like to sigh and say it's just the way it played out upon the grave. An epitaph of a coward can still say he's brave.
Stardust your shoulders off, must you make assumptions based on a one-shot? I guess this mess is un-blessed heaven's run off. Even with a bitter pill to swallow some say "Thanks, God." No names to shame the razor blades, just face-to-face faith and grace shaved of all her avian parts. An honest cross, though I suppose wounds don't lie, try as you might they speak volumes between your quiet lies.
Atrocious pride, precocious moments soaked in kerosene. Hind sight burns bright when you see what you should've seen. Though you didn't so it eats you up; sup on the lame love, but it's never enough. You talk it up, you strut its stuff, but it's never enough when you don't know how to give it back. When you don't understand the burning bridge's decision to be a pile of ash, whose fault is that?
I've been pickin' flowers for a friend's funeral
It's sorta a foreign feeling, but morbidly beautiful
Still, it's no use to know the noose that holds
the flowers close and truly hopes to please the soul
That passed away by killing beauty just to lay it so
upon the grave of one that can't be saved
So they might die like what's inside. I wonder often
is the coffin to protect death from life?
All irony aside, thoughts like these breeze through my mind at the worst of times
Like a laugh escapes at a wake
And people judge like the loved one lost wouldn't want.
With late lilies laid out, and plucked poppies too. My love I will always remember you
I thought to myself as I stared at the silk, arms folded just a flower made to wilt.
I return to the ground to find solace in the silent and the still.
An Old Memory
The sun splintered off like a spider-web
A sweet sunset for two sets of prints left
Behind them a divine sent wonder
Their hands intertwined, this pair of lovers
Their heads to turn each other as the sea sprays
A gentle mist from waves accenting the sun rays
Bright smiles and sea drowned laughs
No thoughts to the future, or the past
As a single silhouette, their image does greet
A pair of sparrow mates who candidly tweet
And slowly they separate, arms connected
Shadows dancing on newly erected
Castles whose kings had long gone
Preparing for bed, awaiting kisses from mom
Just as sweetly the waves greet the shore
A playful peck and nothing more
An eternity of love eroding, as most things might
The couple may fight, but it doesn't cross their mind
No, not this time. Just each other, the sea and the sun
Salty air made sweet as they make use of their tongues
Not explicitly, just affectionate simplicity
A memory so wonderful is oft worth revisiting
- - - Updated - - -
It's Bound To Happen
The star boils deep red
Bubbling surface overturning
Life as we know it
You cannot fix him
Try as you might, he is broken.
Like he made your smile
Votes of confidence
Miscounted on the ballots.
Politics are dumb.
Sleep always finds me
No matter how long I'm lost.
One day I'll stay found.
The Nature of Serenity
A Storm's eye is calm
Because it knows true chaos
We are all weathered
Happiness is an
interesting way to see
who you think you are.