Category Archives: poetry

Time and Fate

Posted on by under poetry, rhyming, solemn

To and fro, to and fro
for that is how things must go;
pulse in men will one day cease
like drowning throes;
there is ease

To and fro, to and fro
for that is how things must go;
words alive will one day fall
‘neath the black;
for dust is all

To and fro, to and fro
for that is how things must go;
we suspect we ought to fear
the shadows cold;
for they draw near

To and fro, to and fro
for that is how things must go;
in fever dreams we can see
through the looking glass;
we are not free

To and fro, to and fro
for that is how things must go;
our eyes know truths we’d rather not
like prize for our burdens;
we all must rot

To and fro, to and fro
for so are things cursed to go;
this weary toil will one day end
from our proud houses
we descend

Bound

Posted on by under non-rhyming, poetry, rhyming, solemn

Locks of hair and the hope to be a silver key
are Myth and Creation – are Haven, Destination;
beyond Earth and Sea smiles that scarlet world
whose kingdoms came and regents wept
for martyrdom:

It is Beauty, it is Grace
of poets who write, in apathy to act;
conduct a fury! yet lack the very motion,
and to dearly want is to dearly despair,
for the Face of God I have touched
with Desire, my Truth threadbare

I wished for whims and the heavens obliged
with a stroke of skin; Sweetness she unbridled
and ‘twas a second I slept on foreign shores,
in Elysium’s lap, ignorant of Doom or Decline

To turn Sphere Celestial, to force Heaven askew,
to be bound to her who lifts Affinity aloft –
that is to be Chosen, build Firmament anew

Sweet / Nasty

Posted on by under non-rhyming, poetry, solemn

You have sweet eyes. I have nasty eyes.
You have nasty eyes. I have sweet eyes.
And we are but pawns to endgame.

Heads morphed to bowls of glass
to carry fire and flame ;
and I’ll make a stepping stone of you
by stepping on you;
and you’ll be the words “death before dishonor”
with “death” underlined 10,000 times;
and our fury shall lack nothing
but direction.

I don’t finish everything I start
and I did not start some things
that I’m about to finish; and day by day
it’s becoming clearer we won’t find God,
that we’ll lose this round of hide n’ seek n’ destroy.

And as we take our stance ‘neath auburn skies
we are deaf to the uncoiling of vipers in the grass.
And you can ask yourself
if they would spare a thought for ethics.

Neither of us
a unique and beautiful snowflake.

The Continental United States Is How I Disappear

Posted on by under non-rhyming, poetry, rhyming, solemn

I have things to pass the time and I have things to smash the clocks,
I have things to take you there and I have things to bring you back,
I have:
– a hundred thousand in $20 and $10 bills,
– a beat-up four-door, just for the feel of it,
– the next three motels mapped out,
– all the cigarettes Philip Morris ever made and
– a love that I’m not afraid to use

So drive to West 51st and switch cars, pretending to be invisible
which we all are. Give up the handicrafts and drama
to drown in handshakes, in Americana.
Leave behind five-star bistros and their rustic feel,
alongside what once was the American Dream;
boutiques so quaint which really ain’t,
suits and ties and the Man and his lies,
the money and the pie charts, piled atop the downtrodden hearts,
the infotainment, the “I want to be famous”,
the bagels, the crap coffee, the sweet taste of nothing –
and the rooms pregnant with silence.

With silence. That serves but threat and dust.
With silence. That is a bullet in the chamber of us.
With silence. That has swept our purpose aside.
With silence. That at gunpoint laughs at our lives.

– and I want to make it out of here with you
for Uncle Sam may want you, but not half as bad as I do.

I want to find the center point of Kansas’ plains,
there bury the keys to our Brooklyn loft;
to bring down the killing Texan sun
and howl at the Montanan moon,
so silver and aloof; on wolf hours walk past each
empty seat of Soldier Field, and for my kin
claim the land they dubbed Illinois;
to see the spirits as they shift the seasons,
as do believe the Iroquois.

To rob and ruin Fort Knox so a billion lives could reboot;
I’m ready and willing, but with nobody but you.
It would take four hands a hundred years
to carry and sink all that gold to San Fran Bay…
and “yes we can”, as they always say.

Synchronize watches and hearts in 3… 2… 1… now.

Radical in the Open

Posted on by under humorous, non-rhyming, poetry, solemn

I met this omg_lol_wtf anglophile
her tits poetry, my nihilism my license to do things
with a twenty yrs old with a balloon in place where some of us
have shit like the frontal lobe
she was a radical in the open, practicing her aim
as well as her free speech
to make speech more free of meaning
bereft of purpose – bang bang mothafucka

so let’s discuss the financial situation
or what the gov’t did last week
or the way the 90s affected our society
or how punk’s not dead, just sleeping tight right now
or traffic or weather or sitcoms like we give a shit
or did I ever tell you about this one time
or to hell with it all
god above, I wanna make inroads
into you, baby
and get drunk and fuck and drink and rinse and repeat
not necessarily in this order

masturbation is the ultimate form of self-motivation
I got two thugs on the payroll
swinging at the end of my ropes I call arms
her ass a void of expectations
a boyhood fantasy

and that’s just how I roll
and that’s just how the money rolls in
and I don’t mix my drinks with purpose
and I don’t expect to start

May Dreamers Never Die

Posted on by under non-rhyming, poetry, solemn

A girl squats down, hem of her dress riding up
and the sun sees two patted knees
leans in to give them a kiss
She picks a stick of chalk
and draws a story on dark grey canvas
of Spanish asphalt
with the moral of the story being
that stories really need no morals

A boy leans forward, from deep pocket
and eye’s dark socket, produces a knife
and points it at Life herself
Lets the threat subside and begins
to carve
Promise of perseverance he dreams of
upon the bark of pine, as if it’ll last
“Thug life now N 4eva”

May they meet, may they be one from two
May they not merely live, but prosper
May dreamers never die

CMMNCTR

Posted on by under humorous, non-rhyming, poetry, solemn

I’m surrounded by NDAs
like cages telling me the whole world is a secret
that I cannot tell.
“Hey, it’s all gone swell.”
It’s all gone to hell: I could shout it from the rooftops
or buy the tower of Kelvedon Hatch to air it
and nobody’d care.

What I had for lunch falls under the Trade Secret Act of ’94
and if I’d tell you, I’d never work in this town again.
I’d lllluuuuv to never work in this town again.

I had sushi for lunch.

I don’t have dreamy eyes;
I’m just tired, is all.

I’m a living, breathing sleight of hand:
“quick, look that way” –
but you can look at it this way:
I’m still uploading my full potential
and so far, only half the asshole I could be.

I don’t have dreamy eyes
I’m just tired, is all.

I lay in bed and pretend
not to hear the noises
of my neighbours fighting or fucking, not sure
(hope they’re fucking or else it’s a long fight)

and think of what I do:
helping someones come up
with somethings to say
and after Round No. Umpteen
of corrections, wanting by now to go for broke,
to speak neither truth nor falsehood,
but just to SCREAM out n’ be done with it.
Just.
To have something.
ANYthing.
To SAY!!!

I don’t have dreamy eyes, I told you:
I’m just tired, and that is all.