The stream (all workshops)
Ghost
co-write with Pixee
I've found the cold
of separation
a rusty blade
in-between my ribs
seeking my heart
in the frigid lands
where smiles
cannot reach
no light
white or blue
to feel the touch
of sunshine
on my need strained face
I travel
in morbid shade
and shadow
flows through
my hungry veins
It is sad how we are locked in illusions
Or are illusions enclosed in us?
Do we choose to live in seclusion?
Or has solitude always been in us?
Are we born pessimists?
Or we run optimism out of us?
Do days and nights really exist?
Or are shadows and lights reflected from us?
which is which, I am not quite sure,
I think I still need to learn pretty much.
In the matter of critique
in the mattering of my poems,
ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
I offer you in evidence
this tome.
I can obscure the point and stick
it where the sun don't shine, I can
wrap it up in the most pretty poetic
pontifications so you'll lose your mind
and you'll never know what
hit you and sent you tumbling from
the pedestal of your higher echelon
and never run afoul of your umbrage and
your law.
love and lust
the purpose of life
what is
procreation
for some
is just lust
for most
and love
for those
dreaming of idealism
lust is simple evacuation
where as love is injection
take it or leave it
love is permanent
lust is like infatuation
impermanent!
lust is like dew
and
love is the draft
that draws the dew
so everlasting is actually love
but
youth needs more of lust than love
apart from the mother’s bosom
be one a son or a boy...
ketchup bottle gleam
the plans of days glitter
slipping on the clasp
a locomotive cries
like thunder chortling
in daydreams grasp
Roll days like a blunt
sealed wishs with a
wet tip
and crisp red lit
from sharp edge matchstick
drawn quick
the plates swept away
and beneath this sky
you tuck your napkins
stained with tears down
the tight squeeze of your
thigh
ABOUT RAINBOWS
[In memory]
I’m sorry for the words
I never did say
and all the things
I didn’t do for you.
I’m sorry for the silent days
and my stubborn ways.
But most of all I’m sorry
you never did see
the rainbow in me.
OF HUMAN BONDAGE
I am flesh and soul
I give of my seed
as I give of my heart
I am predator and prey
passion and prayer
and attrition for my sins.
I am nothing more than
who I am
nothing less than
what you want me to be.
DI SCHIAVITÙ II
sono carne e anima
do’ del seme volentieri
come del cuore.
Sono predatore e preda
passione e preghiera
e attrito per i peccati miei
Sono nulla di più che sono
niente di meno che mi dai...
The Constancy
________________________________
I hear a bird chirping sweetly
under the sound of your voice,
while we talk about nothing and everything
over the phone some mornings.
I imagine the bird is content
but I don't know.
.
I am slowly imploding.
Slowly crushed by the limits
of this faulty container.
It's an odd world from my perspective.
When I gave up the whys, I gained peace,
I am getting better all the time.
in a way.
.
There is a constancy.
I spied him briefly you know.
I'm of course referring to my muse,
and from what they say, (I'm on a need to know basis because there are many things I don't need to know.)
he simply bolted upright, got to his feet, and then headed straight for my brain;
where, I might add...he's been causing havoc ever since!
But, I digress; and quite simply try to do and look my best all of the time.
I have regular days where I do fall a "tad" short;
whatever a tad, is. It must be some increment of vague measure,
I walked without the laughter of the children
I felt empty, and so alone, the world may have ended
Please tell me I am wrong? I cannot see!
There seems to be an empty space in front of me.
Yesterday they were here, I heard them so
Please tell me what has made them go?
I cannot see it's hard for me to listen to emptiness.
Just tell me I am wrong and it won’t be long.
Before the children return.
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