Meandering to my aquarium walls
I goggle at the world outside
Wondering what it's like out there
Swishing through the plants
Wandering to the filter outlet
For a breath of filtered air
Rooting along the floor
Sucking up anything that may have fallen
Alone in my bowl
I would like to live,
In endless solitude,
For when my heart stops beating,
My lungs stop breathing,
I will know no difference
Between life and death.
And when my time passes,
Bury me between
A lonely pine,
So that it will resemble
Memories will linger,
Of a cheerful time,
But so distant are those,
Out of focus, blurred.
And when a passerby,
May stop and look
At the lonely pine,
He will shed no tear,
Will not cry,
But still feel a presence
Of one he never knew.
He kissed her with lips that were as dry as his love for her
As they walked and talked in the cold of a winter's night.
The feelings were gone but the smiles remained, for too long.
They laughed at themselves and what they did wrong
And poked at each other's separating ways and lives.
They stopped at a bench in the cold of a winter's night
And he called her a selfish, bitter bitch. The kind that rips out
Your heart and leaves it there to wallow in the very blood it pumps.
And she called him a wimp who could not speak up to a woman,
Nonetheless, for himself. And despite the jabs they took,
The hooks they threw, and the stab wounds that left them bleeding
In the cold of a winter's night, they couldn't help but laugh
At what they did wrong, at the smiles that lasted for too long,
Because they both knew that they were too young and dumb
To try to love the way they tried to love each other.
I never knew your name,
but I would have guessed
it was the same as the dog
who fished you from the river
when you were three. I’d imagine,
to this day, he still waits for you
at the gates, not much to do, nipping
the asphodels from the ash. I wonder
sometimes, on those hours
when the vacancy is at its all time high,
does he sleep? Does he dream? Does he try
to remember the days when hell
was just a small hole in the ground?
I want to know what is the world
on his shoulder? How does fire
spill from his mouth? Are the flames bile?
Is the bile blood? And is this all, some way,
a form of grief? I have never died,
so I could not know. But if I did,
I would breathe fire for you
and speak of smoke all the same,
even though, my name is Ocean.
I love you like the burning
of a world gone mad loves
the ashes of the pyramids and
the husks of the collossus and
when I dream I dream of
my blue haired psychopath god
laying with me in the rubble
of the great wall-
I love you like the dying of
the brightest star; like a black
hole loves the light and brings
it near from afar and when
I scream I scream in rage,
rage, rage, RAGE against
the fear of the dying of the last
blue dawn on a horizon that's cast
against a backdrop of man on machine
suicide love notes etched into the
ashes of the pyramids and when
I dream of my blue haired psy-
chopath god and the breaking
down of all the walls and all the
towers and I dream of my collossus
and I rage at a husk and I would
burn down the world
to give you the ashes
I made a joke..
One that didn't set well with a certain bloke.
I was banned for a week, but now set free!
Oh, how 7-day suspension killed me.
Not able to write poetry, not able to vote.
Not even able to discuss the mass spoilers afloat!
It's nice to be back, I suppose.
Although my poetry sucks, it's more fun than typical prose.
The Fence in Heaven
Remember when we fell for each other way back in school?
When things were so easy, when we'd play it cool,
When we'd meet at the corner of Oak and Chase,
When I'd run for miles in the rain just to see your pretty face.
And remember when I wiped the tears that you cried?
When you felt so alone when your daddy died,
And remember our talks and our fights and our dances,
The risks that we took when we did not know the chances
Or consequences of our silly actions and love
Because we left everything to fate and the stars above.
And remember that fence I mentioned to you?
In Ms. Drum's class, remember the picture I drew?
The one of a white picket fence in a field
That our two different religions used as a shield
To bar lovers like us from loving after our death
So we wouldn't again taste the other's sweet breath,
But I promised that I'd be waiting for you
At that fence up in heaven, I promised, it's true.
Because I do not believe in "'Til death do us part"
There's nothing divine that would keep us apart.
And I'd tear down the fence just to hold your hand
And I'd let heaven above know where I'd stand
Its with you my darling, with you my love,
That's all we need, all we need is our love.
Although my poetry sucks, it's more fun than typical prose.
No Fun Allowed
Fun, prose, there should be no distinction
poesy is the deciphering of the waters of life
as they flow past rock, tree, hill,
at every obstacle it splashes
and moves on
Celebrate, have fun, be free
revel in your life and in your poetical discourse;
old men in suits: the proper 'academia'
would leech the life from art
sustaining intellectual dictatorship
Alone In An Empty House At 9PM When It's Forty Below Out
The train blares mournfully in the darkness
As cold reaches in from the windows
The furnace howls
Trying to warm the iciness within
Touching the glass; arctic sparks
My face, and the emptiness behind
Reflected in nothingness
being emotional's such a big deal
crying and dying and whining and screaming
and bleeding inside, or being dramatic
to die - an expression! -
to say "it's so tragic"
i'd die if i could guarantee
the end of my own misery,
but that's not what being emo seems to be
of things that others clam up about until those others jump off bridges and let everyone see what they feel without talking
so i vent in endless contortions
yell my thoughts from metaphorical roofs
or fears from the edge
it's so messy, so uncouth
but it's not like i can stop feeling (is it? wish it?)
so what would you have us do?
i don't "identify" as emo or hipster
but to question yourself and yell at the top of your lungs
to listen to fiona apple say that the pain comes in like a second skeleton
is to hear yourself at times and
it's bursting at the seams
and my hopes and dreams impossible -
my fears immense, plans pointless
to say nothing of the sex
we are so small and useless
nothing to be done
when fate (that doesn't exist)
"thinks it's going to have some fun"
and that trap of rhyming nonsense
that catch of yelling anything
that comes into my mouth
as long as it sounds good
as long as it tastes good
i don't care
and i care so very much that i'll do anything to not
that feeling when something is rising up from deep within you and all you can do is scream, it's not tangible, just a small nugget of knowledge that you will never be satisfied in this world
Sometimes I dream
Of a different reality
But then I wake,
Into the true cold reality
Of me being alone
In my bed
Blocking out the voices in my head
Telling me to write a note,
To make a jump,
In to the next step
Of the circle of life
I once met a girl with a smile so bright
It shone like a lighthouse in the night,
And when she laughed my heart would skip a beat.
So we talked and talked of silly things,
Like how I danced and the way she sings
In a voice so off key, it hardly sounded neat.
One evening we went off into the dark
And found an old oak tree to carve our mark
As lovers in our youth that were meant to be.
All summer long we would both sing and dance
And love each other like lovers in a trance.
Come summer's end, I got down on one knee.
That's when I said, "My dear sweet Cassidy,
In my heart I know you're the one for me.
Now darling, will you take this shiny ring?"
And as her hair blew in the summer breeze
Her eyes tear'd up and she said, "Darling, please,
It pains me to tell you of such a thing,
And I hope someday you will understand
That you truly are a sincere man,
But something says you're not the one for me."
So I said, "Sweet Cassidy, what do you mean?
After all of the things we've done and seen,
Are you saying that we're not meant to be?"
And she said, "Yes, that is what I mean,
Nick, I have to admit and come out clean
And tell you why I cannot accept this ring.
You see, darling, I truly love you so
But I must leave you here, I want to go
See the world, from London to Beijing.
And somewhere out there there will be a man
As curious as I am, who will take my hand
And travel 'round this entire world with me."
So I said, "Darling, I can be that man
Who'll travel 'round this world and take your hand
And as lovers, we would see things differently."
Then I saw teardrops falling from her eyes
As she said "Nick, I truly would despise
To see a world only as lovers see,
Because the world is such a pretty thing,
And it wouldn't be as pretty with this ring.
I want to see this world naturally.
As a soul not bound by the bonds of love,
So when I look up to those stars above
I'll know that I am me, and that I'm free."
She turned her back and walked away from me
While I was still down on one knee,
That's when I realized, when I began to see
That she loves life so much more than me
That this was how it is meant to be.
And as she left I said, "Goodbye, Cassidy,
"Send postcards, pictures of where you'll be
So I can see the places you will see
It'll be like we're there together, you and me,"
But she said, "No, that's not how it will be.
You've got your own life to live and world to see
Because you and I will see things differently."
So then ten years had gone by and passed
Since the summer I had seen Cassidy last,
And my wife had brought to me the day's mail.
To my surprise I found a postcard for me
On it was a picture of a crystal sea,
And there stood Cassidy, on a boat and sail.
I saw her happy face and that bright smile,
And all the card said was, "It's been awhile,"
And "I hope that life has treated you well."
Then I couldn't help but reminisce and sigh
And, as if speaking to Cassidy, my reply
Was "Life, indeed, has treated me well."
A pig's skin through uprights.
Such a simple thing; such a
Simple flick of god's finger
Such a little coin toss
Of all anguish and all joy
And all hope and all burn-
ing or infinite rage-
Such a little thing-
The Trajectory of Dreams.
The Flight Path of Redemption
And how can six seconds-
The last two of them, even-
Re-enact the falling of the
Tower of Babel? The burn-
ing of Rome? How can every
Great tragedy of man; how can
Every tear and wound and
sin be made reproduced by
sixty minutes on a hundred
yards of over priced
Such a little thing.
A change in numbers.
Such a little thing.
Just a trophy.
Such a little thing;
The breath of a city, held in
Anticipation for the choice of
Mother Nature herself; the
Very Judgement of the winds-
A ten mile an hour hurricane
to bat away the ages and hallow
or undo the monuments of
Eleven mousy men.
Such a little thing.
The Trajectory of Hope.
The Flight Path of Tragedy.
The Rise and Fall of one Ball-
One course for the rest of our lives.
Soft buzzing sounds
Much too dainty to be called snores
With a smile on your sleeping lips
My seed oozing out from inside you
Heavenly aromas waft
As I stand watching you sleep
Limbs akimbo, a knee peeps out
From under rumpled sheets
Such a shapely knee
It stirs the hunter within me
To eat what I shoot
~ The Untouchable ~
Floating along the gentle stream, the lily glides and dances around the whorls and rocks, moving ever forward, she is untouchable. She flies continually, never giving heed to the world around her. The branches reach out to hold her, and the frogs seek her refuge of peace for a time, but still she moves on, untouchable. through mires, over snakes that beg her to stay, the lily is floating ever on, rain can't sink her, and wind can't stop her, but with her momentum taking hold, danger looms. She reaches for branches and begs for the frogs and snakes to slow her decent, but they are far behind her now. She slips ever forward and swiftly dances over the waterfall, and dances again but through the air, ever faster now and she is untouchable.
I'm new to the thread, I'm not really sure how to make this more aesthetically pleasing, but hopefully this works