New Arrivals - Poetry - Oddities(Earliest Poems)

Repeat
Falling
Falling in
Falling apart

Holding
Holding out
Holding on

Broken
Broken off
Broken heart

Alone

Repeat

Theresa
it makes the heart
     grow fonder

Thinking of you incessantly, wishing you to be
     Always, in my life

Rancid dreams

Angel, I'm sick of feeling like this

Lingering smell of a candle
     Of midsummer's night
Voluntary and
     Edifying of my reality

You know there's no way i'm sleeping
     Ok, or even remotely fine
Umbridge

I'm tired of this sick feeling
I'm sick of feeling this tired

I hope you smile every day

 

4C
Unhinged, I find myself achase...
     20-somethings, drink, something real

The beauty of a decade is the simplicity
     of it's reverberant psychopathy
Your shining moment

When you have the anti-midas touch
     it's easy to be alone

Age is a number

Cats of soaked wreckaged revenge
     amplify my sympathy
Ignorant of all the
     Trends and Lost of the Yesterdays
          Never again to be--Not alone

Moth
Late nights
     laughter, yelling, fights
          gives me comfort
Drunken revelry and revolt
     things to
          Occupy
               my mind

Do you remember when we used to smile?
     the sordid dances that made us youth?
Entropy of the lost logic
     things that stir
          and go bump in the night

They were looking for the endless party
     the way to the soul
          a way to connect
Ghoulish tempers and fevered egos
     enumerating a mass common sense

We've lost track of where to go
     the formula for freedom
          and true exodus
God and country have replaced
     the original thought of community

May we forgive the young,
     bright flames of which dreams are true
May we discover the old recipe
     for the cakes that imbibe our souls
          into a life of pure inebriation
               towards real freedom

No diaries, nothing worth recalling
God had a plan and civil call,
     a place for those wise enough to ignore
          and those dumb enough to be deaf of

Where will you go when the party is over?
What will you have said of your life?
Will anyone think of you?
Did you die for anyone?

A tempest is on the horizon
     and the right are hoarding the shotguns
          so that they may be the first to put it in their mouths

I told you so, is only helpful if you can listen
History is only useful if you care to read
The only vision left is of grandfathers who
     changed the world.

Leveled
Shiny and inane
     is the marble of the foundation
          of my faults
Stark reservoirs leave an impression
     on dry throats

Ingenious is an impeccable stress
     of the grand golden ignorant
And below this scene of incredulous imperfection
     stands out before me an array of
          mismanaged choices

Perhaps I can find resolution
     in the moon's miraged image,
          hiding behind frost's clouds
Perhaps meaning can be attained
     by the disdain of the lost hippies
          in a generation of techno-babble
Perhaps the grand audience
     would care
          for the evenings entertainment
Perhaps I can fly
     if I leap from the ground

Men like ground meat
     not discovering latent enemies
Armies like ants
     wandering lost amidst battlefields
          of deserted picnics

Cruelty is key

Dehydrated memories to plead
     for the water
          of happy recall
These thoughts leveling
     my will

 

 

Pronampthians 5:10
At least at my ultimatum
and at least the bedlam
of it's flowers
There came the tremor.

Polynesian parties
and atmosphere
There are no landlords
standing so queerly abhorred
of the world.

No man should ever withstand the posterity
that is the freedom license.

When the one love
becomes a succinct love.
When true freedom is a pacifier
and a real way out.

Stop the conscious that requires a night of
god like concentration.
I forgo the heart of man,
and deny its irrelevant thunderstorm.