A Poem Thread

Thought of the day:

Normal, happy people don't understand me, or I them,
They don't know what kind of demons wear human skin,
Will eat your soul like a frosted cake,
They remain entirely innocent in their little sins,
Unshredded in their beings. Again,
I turn toward the growing darkness,
Alone among them all as if encased in glass.

6/27/11
 
Born to War

Born to war in the mouth of hate, flesh torn
twice twisted I was born far too late.
Abandoned out of fear of the fire I held inside,
my mind screams in anger in its bony sodden
shell.
I demanded explanations from a cruel heartless
world.
But the sun kept on shinning and the clouds
passed me as well.
The moon mocked my challenge and the stars
cast pointed spears.
And I cried out “Give me mercy” but the silence
silenced me.
If out of hubris, I could snuff out my inner fire and
replace it with icicles of cruel and vengeful ire.
I’d judge the instigators of this painful human lie
and freeze them with an icy gaze from eyes too hurt
to blind.
You’ll see my face in passing I’m the man you’ve met
before. I’m the boy who hides the needle. I’m the girl
you’ve hurt before.
I am the one who sits forgotten when the battle has been
born and the last thing you’ll see standing when you open
that dark door.
 
The Fall of Detroit
It was July 24th, 1967 among the blackening hearts of men there came a voice out from Heaven.
It called to the Spirit of Detroit.
In thy left hand, this voice did say, you've held my light high through bronze gilded rays.
And in thy right, transfixed in your sight, the relations of men, now lost in Detroit.
So I say unto thee, turn your back till they see, for the words there do read - with this Spirit comes liberty.
.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Spirit_of_Detroit
 
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A Performance Piece.

Bitch amongst the bromide, bodacious and buoyant,
and bound for Bremerhaven on a blazing bright booze boat.
And before rhyming any more B’s remember that you!
You my Euro trash artist girl tossed noted bottles into the Baltic.

A performance piece.

You kissed the notes, small pictures you drew in coitus and
cocaine. On that good hemp paper, hemped and happy,
humped and handed out. Inked in indigo like the mood but the
paper was green, no toxins like our breath.
Happy tree huggers and fern fuckers we, we smoked our
herbal leaves and swam in a hazy sex cloud sea.

Blown and bloated onboard, under the boards being written about,
drawn. Yes you with that hair like Amélie Poulain and eyes too
knowing to feign innocence. Nevertheless, I liked it that you tried!

Even though….

Drunken substances and sex, sad sins in the light of the hungover day,
did we live last night? Did we giggle and smirk at the drunken bromide
of Germans? And did we throw noted bottles at Bremerhaven that washed
upon a polluted condom beach.

Lurid vodka scribbles, upon a pebble beach lost to passing Saxons,
our performance piece. My Amélie Poulain clone with those eyes.
Bodacious and buoyant signed with a kiss one noted bottle you gave
to me.

The note was drawn in indigo like the mood, and said:

“Never leave me.”

I promised and cast it to the sea, and did my wind-spoken vow ride with her
noted letter, drawn in coitus onto that needle Baltic beach with the others?
Or drawn by our wake did it shatter becoming a bromide with the syringes
and spent semen all sterilized by a toxic sea beneath the lights of Bremerhaven.
 
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Kali’s Cousin

Kali’s Cousin

Transitory in darkness she was washed
upon a fatal shore, deaf amongst the shrills,
ragged before the latest rage.

Torn clothes and dreams last hope she is a
fellow traveler on this hungry road, trekking
to an orphan’s grave with me on a 21st century
door.

A pilgrim with a sunset back, she treads the road
with a fiery step, and for every measured foot she
treads, another beating heart falls still.

Before a carnival of carrion she dances up a storm,
lost within the subwoofed doffs, Kali’s cousin knows
the score.

What is the price for a pointless life? A chambered
heart echoing regret need not hurt forever more,
lost in the 21st century threadbare before the thrall.

She’ll watch the prideful and humble fall all equal in
her eye. And when I touch that frozen face her breath
will scent my silent sleep and I’ll walk that hungry road
no more.
 
The Trees The Lords

the cascade
the whisp of the trees
would know people with air that may mudsling
The trees prefer a being won't be wrong yet allow
experience..
They quite play with everyman
I quite think
..so the correction
and corrections
led and lead.
And to watch destiny
there's things the trees know.
The preparative virtues weren't hanging.
A butterfly migrates
...wings...
amongst freedom gift and temperance.
what when one knows Tree is Lord.
something sometimes!
and the wing took to the heavens
and the work was play
and the hurt
a finding anyhow
something sometimes
began finding in the finding
touched by majesty of tree.
 
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Paradigmn People (evolutions might)

Smashing Pumpkins
evolute
are words gods tools

creative reading
nutrients and expellors
obliquity fissures of attachment.

..Might and simplex were
pretty good friends
restive rejuvenate.

Smahing pumpkins
Jello fixed Hell-o

The neologian
departs often
for caliber to calibrate
for smashing pumpkins.

sniffing osmotics for selective
omniscience
to dissolve affliction
something of origin
a solace.

Smashing pumpkins
evolute
words like gods and tools.
 
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Koan Happy

greeting
spoke and speaking

good evening wasn't an insult
it t'was for providence
knowing compassion that
complaint find no befall into the name of pain.

ambiguous laughter
had a quality like
water that falls
from the eyes in the name of rite providence.

gratitude a place a name
for giveness in the name of understanding
in the name of providence participate of task and whist
evening throughout the day
Sunshine doesn't know shade,
is a gratitude.

cosmic harmony isn't challenged
human causmic is what it is

Rite providence known as the nameless
glee is a standing flower, what of a rainbow.

welcome is greeting, many forms of play.. throughout the day
..as it greets
good day
of whist
spoke
and speak.
 
Carrion Dancer

This revision of my last poem, I've changed the title and rewritten it extensively.


Carrion Dancer

Transitory in her darkest moods she was dashed
upon a darker shore, deaf amongst the shrills,
ragged before the latest rage.

In cloth torn dreams, she’s is a traveler on a hungry
road, trekking with me towards an unmarked
grave somewhere in this scavenger century’s soil.

She’s a pilgrim with a sunset back, who treads the road
with a fiery step, and for every measured foot she takes,
another beating heart falls still.

Before a carnival of carrion, she dances up a storm.
Facebook feeders and Youtube posers caw to her call.
As I bleed through USB cords.

Wirelessly sorted, as I fall.

What is the price for a pointless life? A chambered heart
echoing regret shouts “What if?” Screamed to anonymous
fools, I am threadbare before the thrall.

Soon to touch her frozen face, her breath will scent my
silent sleep. Bones and ash will pave a hungry road, and she will
sit and tick me off the score, never to know: “What if?”

“What for?”
 
Burning

Burning

Running through the shattered glass,
the broken walls and the burning cars.
Rolling smoke tints riotous skies and
twilight frames their shadowed forms.

Burning in ecstasy, black buried atrocities
ticked off the list. Scorched offerings left
on the pyre of withheld promises.

Dancing in living flames.
 
Masters Of War

Bob Dylan


Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks.

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly.

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain.

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion'
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud.

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins.

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do.

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul.

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand over your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead.
 
Making rainbows

vicious Love he.. hea etchings on a page,
of result
of the beauty of others spending love..they make more!
read, read Such love
in pictures, words and symbols
formative socialization
Do they know their rainbows carved smile on anothers being...
And there is true
true on the magic carpet
the rainbow tapestries, threads..notes, it's all song
And oh, how i love the spending of magic rainbow dust
gratitude on a page
True
and that true is true, True of and beyond the pixels.
notes of rainbow smile!
 
I wrote these for middle school and high school respectively. I don't write poetry when I don't have to, but I like these. :)

Paco the Evil Tulip

Sleeping by the roadside,
Its breathing sure and sound,
Dreaming of the reason why it sprouted from the ground,
Lived the tulip, Paco.
For now, this is his name.
He is only dozing, but his soul is far from tame.

'Harmless little flower,'
Say daily passersby,
Only knowing that the plant looks right about to cry.
Keeps his face well hidden—
He hates the sunlight, see;
Yet, he still holds fast to Mother Earth's Conspiracy.

Funny thing that Nature
Permits such grueling sin:
Leaving many plump and fat while cursing others thin.
Humans one day took it.
(By 'it' I mean Her role:
Making sure that She will stay the fattest of the whole.)

Now we fight against Her
To have the world as ours.
She has need of recruits like roads' harmless little flowers.
And, if Paco's ready,
(I know how hard he'll try.)
It's his job to make sure that each one of us will die...



Wonder

It is dark.
I look up,
And there they are.
Just floating there.
They look at me.
I see their swirls,
Their subtle shades,
And a grandeur
I cannot explain.
So another helps.

The big One,
A furious cloud
With thunder at his fingertips,
Speaks in a rumble
That makes my body shiver, my eyes wide,
And my mind open up.
He says,

“You, little one,
Are the first to witness
Our awakening.
Today we hunt.
We pull no trigger;
We sharpen no edge;
We strike with the arm of wrath.
You and your people
Will never again
Arise at the dawn
Without fearing, marveling, pondering
Our one muscle,
Our power,
Our Purpose.”

“What is your purpose?”
And gone was he, and they, but I knew:
The Tribe was moving on,
About the world,
Soon to reappear.
But how big, how angry,
How infecting?
Infecting our people with a greater self-awareness,
That we arrived after the clouds,
And will depart before Them.
 
My father's poem, found hand writen in one of his old book:

I have also heard the wisdom
Whispered in the market place
In the lull of buying selling
I have heard the great ones telling
How to prosper in the race.

But I could not learn the lesson
Mattered not how hard I tried
Could not learn the way of beating
In a world were men were cheating
Though I cheated, and I lied.

Yet some get along and prosper
In the game where cheaters win
In the game of greed and getting
Where the sun is slowly setting
On a world besmirched with sin.

And to those that do not triumph
Worldly wisdom points a way
Bought and sold are joy and sorrow
Bargained off is each tomorrow
For the bread we eat today.

In my way of vagabondage
I have played a hectic game
It was tough, but it was thrilling
And at times I felt it killing
But I lived on just the same.

John Pepper
 
Warewolves Hold Strong So Dogmares Can Run To Hiding

Tactic if caught out fishing during the day
Hunters hold fire
The lee bay side has tall treed dogmen
& the windward bay side is peskies cove.
 
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Sweet Hearted Bones

Sweet Hearted Bones

The orchestra of eons played the dirge upon the shore
of the River Styx. Those watered notes carried forth
until they reached a darker pit to pause upon a frozen
grave.

Ten times down and deeper still where times tired tears
whispered will, chime a plea to these ravaged motes.

“The time has come, let’s point the bone.”

The sweetest bone a skull face split, a grin that smiles in
deaths head lips will glint within its socket sight and through
the ground, the skull will arise.

No rest, not now for buried crimes, these lethal bones, cross
bone the sky. And beneath their plume, more murders lie, this
shining scull face with the widest smiles.

Will smirk at you throughout the lingering night.

And the tune will then take on a sorrowful lilt, on the river of
oblivion washed bones will up float, on an eddy of guilty, haunted
cries. These sweet-hearted bones, this frame of past times, washed
up will in Elysium lie.
 
Oceanus Procellarum

Oceanus Procellarum

Blown on the breath of scented air,
swirled, my thoughts are like a Gordian
Knot, winding around one obsession.

These eyes have drunk an ocean of you,
aequorial intoxication on a parchment of
epidermis, burnt by desire and flown to
forgotten skies.

An ocean of storms, a silent tinkling gaze,
knows that now you yourself it would seem,
are a victim of a madness like mine.

Let me sleep before your light and smile
down on me. Let me be Endymion in your
arms silent Selene.

And maybe a passing thought wound up like
a knot will unravel as we rive, and from these
un-swirled strands, we’ll know the movements
of the moon upon a sea of storms.
 
Judith B. Anthony

Judith B. Anthony

Judith B. Anthony opens the door,
beyond it my mind will not reach
anymore.

Before it, the children play hopscotch
and war, as Judith hums softly for new
paramours.

Till the coming of patrons, and perverts,
and more. They pay her in dollars and
stains on the floor.

She hum’s in Contralto to Pagliacci’s
turnpike, and prop boys play puppet, to
an old rusty bike.

She lashes them soundly to, Ombra mai fu.
Then does her Carmen and Valkyrie too.

She punches a doughnut to Rigoletto;
it’s more than sex it’s a cultural show.
A red light is lit, and it rouges the walls,
she’s just like her mother an opera whore.

And all her young children playing marbles
and ball, they soon hear her singing and take
up the call.

A whorderline chorus of her children will
draw her back from the brink of this opera porn.

Violetta’s vocation will blossom once more, but
for now. She’s content to bow out as the whore.
 
A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

Bob Dylan

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son ?
And where have you been my darling young one ?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son ?
And what did you see, my darling young one ?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son ?
And what did you hear, my darling young one ?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin'
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin'
I heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin'
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, who did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one ?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son ?
And what'll you do now my darling young one ?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my songs well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&sour...q-TbCQ&usg=AFQjCNF50BnMTXVGPoTOU4PACzZGDTH6Ww
 
Panthalassa

Panthalassa

There are oceans of the mind,
where gyres of fiercest frenzy
swirl, and thickened thoughts
turn waterspouts to snake the
dreams of voyagers there.

Amidst, the maelstrom’s serpent
touch, the eddying winds whisper
wild, carrying fork-tongued
promises, down to the lapis
sea.

Promises unreachable, promises of
shore, fathomless to fathoms it’s
singular and vast, one iris in an eye
of oceanic art.

And as the maddening motion dies,
there’s an ebbing of this Tethys tide.
And whitecap whirlpool, rapids ride
the passing of the storm.

Bringing currents of cognition and a
westering of watered minds.
As certitude sinks the continents
divide.

Panthalassic possibilities float to Pangaea
in the East. Pounded and beached to lie
amongst the starfish of our dreams.
 
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