Distortion

I know the formula

I have a plan

Yet reasons pass me

As to who it was that said I can,

It’s all so simple, it really is,

When permission’s granted

Deviate and disagree if so you must,

Someone, sometime you’ll have to trust,

Truth must be told to tell your tale

But told too often it shall grow stale

With each word misplaced,

A distortion is embraced

Blind I was but now I can flee

That those lies told are seen catching

At first the convulsions made me laugh

But now I hide from its growing path

Ode to Metal

As vibrations shimmy up the leg

Laying claim to the chambers in my head

Resonate and Reverberate, the rise, the fall

A possession of the body, overtaking it all

Piercing thoughts escape this cage

Subliminal concept replacing sight

Urging violence, seeking fights

A forgotten shell consumed with rage

I hate metal

For how it makes me feel

Alive, awake

Cold as steel

I hate metal

Because it’s more real than real

A bass-line outlines my every step

A haunting rhythm with each breath

Today, tomorrow I’ll have no choice,

Despite the anger and the pain

There’s but one thing I can possibly do

And that’s Metal, I declare myself to you


I wrote this poem a few years ago, and to be perfectly honest, I'm beat.  I wrote a couple haikus earlier today and as pitiful as it might sound, It knocked me out.  Did some reading, some great poems over at the Dual-Themed Poetics tonight, but my fingers betray me, refusing to type, even know as I write this simple note.  So, that all said, i'll be back around to visit tomorrow, when hopefully this exhaustion will take it's leave.  After all, one can only sleep so much in a day right?  But enough of that.  Swing on over to D'Verse, where Brian and Gretchen are co-hosting.  I had this piece about music, which conveniently fit into Gretchen's theme, Brian's mad libs post is definitely something I'll try using, perhaps for tomorrow's post.  In any case, swing on by and get your fill on some excellent poetry.

Polarity

Heavy Metal Rainfall

Upon a conduit of steel,

Hold me up, push me high,

Only inches separate what is

And what is higher,

Thunder from the sky above,

Penetrates the vestige known so well,

The groundwork quaked with premise,

The setting altered time and place

Thematically dislocated, dissolving from the stage

A thumping baseline

Quivers through the ear

Resonating in syncopated irony

Fluctuates the man with polarity of choice,

 Retreat or for scabbard reach

The assault at this point is unknown,

To forecast now, premature, it could call upon

The scholar or the man unskilled,

The former would develop strategy he could not apply,

The latter could not devise, but come the moment he’d react

A Fairy Tale Incomplete

I met her a day many Mays ago,

Storybook in structure yet storyboard in form,

Inkless pages from a fruitless vine,

She was flesh, she was pulp,

Sticky sweet, endorphins releasing tastefully,

A delicate recipe, with ingredients defining delicacy,

No brushstrokes necessary, this image solves the easel

Natural shades and brilliant tones,

 Heart rates spike peering each trace the prisms spawn,

So subtle the hue one barely takes the time,

To pause would be to ingest,

 The rhythmic flavor the artist so designed,

Like many others I feigned approach,

As confidence trembled from voice to throat,

 A citric splash philosophy soured any optimism,

Any chance, left hollow; betrayed of opportunity,

To allow a moment, an attempt at thoughtful unknotting,

I do not know what became of her,

Often I dream of what could have been,

Perhaps someday, some other time,

I’d like to pretend that chance I’ll one day get,

I like to think she too regrets our time not spent

A Mind Built Through Isolation

A barren workspace I do seek:

There’s an Independence found in Isolation,

Solitude by choice not by placement or creative construct,

I despise those impersonators, and their convenient smocks of white,

Cloning chickens, splicing genes, for the greater good,

Walls are blank

Only if your thoughts are faint

If they grow and are allowed to blossom

Those bare walls will be vivid, bright and pretty awesome

You’ll have images and memories

Reflections and theories

Chasing after one another

All for your innovation

And perhaps somewhat amusing

In how it all unfolds,

Each crevice, every slat of matter

Left brain, right brain,

There is no such thing as a wrong brain

The mind is the most fertile place of all,

A little sunlight and a lot of knowledge

Will move it from that potted soil

And it will outgrow that tiny ledge on the wall

Isolations not a bad thing at all

A Monster

Heresy,

Hypocrisy,

Raving maniacal,

Clavicles below a mind tyrannical

Fear of monsters as a child, explained away with light,

This monster I assure exists; it knows no affliction, I can attest to this, 

Fleeting

Are the drops

Of blood

As they fall from

Calloused palms

Bathing

Briefly

Daily repeating

Behind covered barriers

I steady the fingers

Focus attention to the man

The undead collaboration

Of a demon and a wretched whore

Adrenalin surges as each atrocity concludes

I wish to turn my head and gulp away the nausea,

But turn it won’t, as oddly tasting saliva drains down my throat,

I fear he’ll find me, in hiding,

Recruited then I’d be

The Days of Side Arms

The days of side-arms for every man,

Might be forgotten by the majority,

Yet remain habit for a few,

Reaching for their holster at the slightest sign ado

Waiting to snap the leather from its clasp,

Seeing conflict as a revolution,

To which they must commit,

The planks are set fifty feet out at sea,

The waves are violent,

The fish swarm,

To the scent of blood forthcoming,

Three men standing side by side

A crowd waits in earnest

As the ropes are tied

Each offered a moment for apologies

Yet most claim injustice is being served

One kick of the chair,

A drop in the floor,

Cease their words forever more

Speaking In Droughts

To speak in droughts is to leave words out,

You divulge your scheme

By imbedding the theme

In code and weaves

Imply but do not state

Leave the reader

The job to evaluate

To equate product and sum

Enable them

As a father would a son

Give them the keys they will require

Infer your desires when

Speaking of all the things in life they could acquire

Be fair and balanced

Create an atmosphere of knowledge

Let every description be their guide,

If they fall they will undoubtedly arise,

Rarely will they option the faulty device a second time,

They will abandon the tool but not the course,

The course will stand as does that shed,

After all you’ve provided them the keys,

Let their imaginations develop for themselves.

On Descending

On Descending

The scales align the same

Whether fur, metal or flesh,

Yet the eyes, they determine the value

What an object is worth,

The more trinkets to enjoy

The brighter the toy is on display,

The largest of the three

Will capture the majority

Increase its rise in popularity

And enjoy its lifetime to the fullest

While the peasants and straw hats

Are tossed by the side of the road

For all to forget

Only to remember a measure of time

Removed from here, only to understand

The ignorance displayed, partially by their hand

And this castaway has since gone underground

With no intention of resurfacing

Simply to scrape away the cruelty you’ve created

A repentant soul is worth saving, 

Yet there are those not worth

The muddying and rekindling of the tears

Developed on your own, in which case

Your soul is better not descending the forgiving path

Delineation of a crumbling mind

Water wet

And sweat is cold

You’ve a thirst for everything

That’s ever betrayed you,

It’s not healthy,

It’ll drive you away,

From society and your own individuality

Down corridors of desperate measures

Into the mirrors of a corroded mind,

You’ll grow mad,

Perhaps insane,

Without direction

You’ll wander lost

Roaming for something

To clutch and grab,

Something solid to hold on to,

You’ll begin dissertations with yourself

And come up with impossible answers

To the problems of someone else,

You’ll die, like us all, but you won’t even know you’re dead,

You will scale the walls and scratch away,

First the heart wilts, then the brain dissolves

The Shadows Execution

Amidst violent winds

And scattered showers

The cold meets the singe of flesh

To some it simmers,

To others scold,

Fanning in the same manner it flames out,

Thrashing waves of corruption come

Bearing down a decreasing sun,

The heat awaits the frost bite of the soul

For some it will freeze and blister,

 For others it may numb and paralyze,

A blizzard burns the same way it cools,

You may be aware of the reasons for,

You may not know the meanings of,

Of these questions you ponder

You are not alone

Within a shroud of banality

An image returns from the bowels below,

A shadows rise,

A shadows fall,

 Contingent upon the light the dark provides

Independent and combined, shadows die as quickly as they grow.

Amnesia

The fertility of the soil

Reflects the barren future

In this world, this vulgarity

Under a crimson sky we hide

The length of time

The words we use

Hostages taken in

Shortened sight

Symbolic, Ever-present,

Pieces of omniscience

Blessing the atheist in each of us, for all our sins combined,

Fuel is splattering like a hose,

As children, racing across the grassy fields,

Evading droplets as they approach,

The hearts are filled with laughter,

The scent of their smiles saturate the air,

Flames intend to warm the soul

A blend of cascading whites and blues

An inferno, a helping hand,

Igniting the spark, destined to scorch

All written history, erasing the evidence

We were ever here

Tactile Agony

The hollow Oak, that unseen hand,

At a distant slope, in an obscure land,

Caress our every hope-filled memory with

Theories of identity which border the

Insanity, the delusional solemnity our clones afar

Leave us with an inner battle, over what is real and which is dreamt,

Erodes every absolution we’ve come to know,

Allowing sin to reemerge and reengage,

Growing in a wavelike

Overthrow, of who we are, and what we stand for,

Nearly, completely, dissolving all the truths, we’ve held dear,

You are left alone, questioning your own identity

A to Z

Aren’t we the crafty fox?

Brats and traffic, same allegory, different category,

Cryptic are the wishes of the child,

Dense and withdrawn,

Engaged yet elsewhere,

Find me a cryptographer, a cipher, and translator

Get the message turned around before

Hysteria takes control

I will refuse the directive if it arrives second hand,

Join the ranks of disaster-proof, if a hero is your mirrored goal

Kill the innuendoes, if truth is what you’re after

Let me be, and truth be told.

Messages written in code,

Necromancy, alive and bold,

Obscure processional of thoughts

Pondering the forward, the backward, the anagrams,

Questioning authority and the words of every man,

Reverse engineered animated form

Suspending disbelief, in efforts to get it right

True Believer, here I am,

Uncanny key-holder of a strange, strange land

Victory is ahead.   Don’t allow cryonics to slow you down,

Would it make it easier if I spelled this out?

X is the place it all occurs

You, me, the last and first,

Zero, it’s always a zero that starts it all

Sisyphus acts a lot like me

A sacrifice would imply I’ve given something up,

But to forgo without a reason,

Outside the cloak of lazy

I have no permission to use such a word,

Another time to open my eyes,

I still see a darkened chamber

Where a brief triangle of light pervades,

Bound by not knowing what else to do,
Arise, awaken,

The day is half way through,

Hours grow strained

And time seems trivial

Information is thrown about

So quickly I cannot reflect

Before the next barrage comes to,

A cyclical persistence and the rut it forms

Endless walks with déjà vu, an automaton I’ve become,

Pushing rocks up the same old hill,

Imprisoned by the actions of a former self,

No voice or choosing which stone I touch,

Ever-knowing the outcome, with each push I wait for progress to appear,

The view is of dreams, with hope alive, and then I reach the peak,

Then what follows has before.   Tomorrow I shall push some more.

Bound for Forgiveness

Thoughts are hidden,

So is intent,

A voice is external,

An outward expression of what’s inside,

A scream is visceral and dangerous

To heart and home, from tomb to throne,

And Jade is the smarter older brother, the color

Of the man who pretends,

It shouldn’t be easy

Until your vision is built, and passions aligned,

Some location, mid-rift of guidance and hope,

On which the sidewalk lanterns burn,

Slight, this even keel atmosphere seems to me,

With blades of green, ambitions hinder prosperity,

Tainted are the wild eyes, roving in a ginger walk,

Hidden behind pleasantry’s veil, choice words concealing animus

Another encounter bound for forgiveness,

Another promise which fails to last,

A triage mentality will only heal you once you’re harmed,

Ignoring the obvious, you clink your glasses,

Soon to drown in a milquetoast, drawn by hand

Milestones

Grayest clouds hover above your every step.

Each stone crumbles under feet so dead,

Bones snapping, too brittle to escape,

Scabs are where blood once was,

The scars that paint the skin,

Milestones, marking where you’ve been,

Poetry swirls around your every thought,

Moving images to play a part,

Emphasizing things so trivial,

Repressing those that aren’t,

The silence which shields the ears,

Milestones, blocking all your sins

Life Reincarnated

It appears an eternity has been erased,

There is a static beginning,

And a fluid end, obviously yet to come,

But the parts in-between seem to have

Traversed this lifetime,

And I am left awaiting its return,

Dreams are like foreign films,

Familiar images in dissimilar scenes,

These are the memories of someone else, a person I’ve never known,

It seems the understanding has returned,

To all the chariots, go forth and tell the world,

Your king has returned,

We are all given two things, life and death,

These are the only constants that connect us all,

It’s what we do in that sacred field of experience,

That pasture of plentitude, that chasm of what cannot be,

It is in this place we cast our unique molds,

And tonight I cast my own,

All the images in my head are nightmares I must bear,

Yet I’ve been given that, which I’ve yet to hear,

A life a death, a Rebirth

Where the only similarities lie within the face

Orange

I was followed home one afternoon,

As the sun was bathing the foliage, keeping it company, keeping it warm,

The days grow cooler, and would soon be cold, the days shorter, and the nighttime long,

A cat, orange and malnourished,

Maybe it was someone’s pet

That got lost and couldn’t find a way to return,

A few scars, a patch of hair missing

I noticed as it weaved its body between these legs of mine,

I felt bad, maybe even identified,

The first few nights I left a can of tuna, and a bowl of milk,

Inside the garage and out of the cold,

I thought I’d awake and find it had gone,

I created this scenario where it jumped up high,

Into an ever elated nervous owners arms,

My visions never play out,

So a few cans later,

As the temperature declined,

I opened up the door

And let this creature become a friend of mine,

And orange will have to be its name

Bottle Rocket

Bottle Rocket

Siphons property

From your intellect,

Is the web, these

Rabid vixens weave,

Dislocate yourself from

From any framework

Foul in construction,

Run, very far from buildings

Such as these

Invest in sensors,

To alarm you when they change

From lover to savage

From confidant to faux friend,

Distrust any, who only states

An aim to please,

Arm yourself at dawn this day,

If not with Gun and Blade,

Bring the bottle rocket and smoke grenades

This is not the cinema,

You can’t simply close your eyes,

And wish the scary parts away

In My Absence

In My Absence

Believing in something, someone

Is all you can wish for,

Please don’t walk away,

Do not leave based on things you hear,

Any worry, any fear,

Release yourself from this my dear,

I will not let you down,

And If I do, understand it was not my intent,

You will not be alone again,

 And if fate requires me to not return,

Close your eyes and see the solution,

You are prepared,

You’ll persevere,

In my absence,

Know that I’ll be fine,

That in you I’ve found

That something to believe in

Wretched, Beloved

I never was,

I could not be,

Meandering in a bloodless flow,

What’s obscure for you, is clarity to me,

 Upfront,
Determined,

This woman would not let this go,

Quietly I refute each advance,

Yet she forced upon me a recant,

Persistence is a pestilence to the uninitiated,

And its vaccine firmly rests upon her lips,

 Ever obstacle, every stage,

I could not avoid,

Impossible to evade,

This wretched, beloved,

Intent on saving me,

I hate this, countless regressions, dispossessions of

Powerless ambivalence,

I love her, each day more than the one before,

Succumbed to this portent rising, an impetus

I still don’t have an answer to,

A question I’ve lost long ago.

Immunity

Each is born with a trait,

Some nurture it, promoting growth,

Others do not water it, and waste the gift God gave to them,

I do neither, yet the trait remains the same,

I understand definitions,

But the meaning, the emotions,

I must pretend and watch, then follow others, silently in tow,

 Incoherency is all I hear,

As you whisper to my ear,

Others certainly would be seduced,

Instead I must ask what you spoke,

The majority of the who am I, doesn’t bother me,

The coldness seems to act as a guardian or a shield,

If others sentiments are interpreted as they were meant,

But without feelings, I am left unknowing,

And sadness if I could hold, its voice would unfold in such a scene,

You are here, and so am I, dote you do, oh so lovingly,

But then I catch an odd notion from your eyes,

As they understand this endearing tenderness

Means nothing to me

Along came an Angel

Along Came an Angel

An Angel stood before me, and didn’t speak a word,

As beautiful as she was, I sensed her equally disturbed,

Reaching out, palm open, I only sought a touch,

But before our fingers paused,

She disappeared, seemingly into dust,

An Angel stood before me,

Perfection to a word, silent and statuesque,

Her face was ever changing, morphing to and from, all the girls I’ve ever loved,

 As if these wings would span, I tried my best,

The harps song drained, a melody took its’ place,

An Angel stands before me, half bent, bloodied from the side,

Her arms they called to me, as tears cascaded from above,

I went to her gently then, shielding her eyes from tufts stained red,

She didn’t speak or cry, not a word was said,

Teardrops told the story all the same,

Her lips she put a finger to, her other to my face,

 As if comforting me was her only aim,

I held her close, the only thing I could do,

 Shame formed inside, as peace passed through,

Sweetly she spoke my name, smiling she offered an apology,

 As she slipped away, disappeared out of sight,

Yet a feather she left behind, of which I think of her from time to time

Heart In a Locket

Heart’s in a locket,

The locket is real,

Hung ‘round the neck

True love’s revealed,

A heart in a locket,

A message conveyed, an image so real,

 A chain of love knows no bounds,

 Never can it fade, its links forever unbroken,

No words or descriptions,

Can discount or diminish thoughts unspoken

When close to the heart

Rhythm’s skips about

When the other is afar,

It beats strong, it palpitates,

Asleep or awake,

Alive or at peace,

This love shared,

Is ever binding and eternal,

It’s not possible to keep apart,

Those connected at the heart

A Revolt Against Sleeping Sirens

As a sickle sickly sets itself,

Between fat and the shoulder,

A Butchers block prevents

The second sirens’ sentence shortened,

With Rhythm, rhyme, and cadence intact,

A sultry sash of epitaph,

Is bound to splice the diameter in half,

Singing sweet and wistful words tonight,

A seductive sonnet, a sweeping lullaby,

Clashing spirits disencumbered,

Alive the crimson flows asunder,

Risen tall, the barometer plummets

Below the point of somber bellow,

A writhing witch wields magic in her lips,

Wriggling ravaged fancies from tongues unknown,

Potions spoken blurred and bothered,

Reveals a cross-stitched tome bathed in silver,

Further dabbling in linguistic prowess

Unveils the shields, to which the Sirens owe their power,

For without, never a man would speak of the sinful voice,

Spewing softly prayers to angels,

The book awaits the scribe, the signer of entries soon to come

A Sound in the Mirror

A sound in the mirror

Priceless, crystal effigy

Confronts the creator

The facilitator of its very life

Uncanny the obscure mixing with the familiarity,

Gestures, movements, even emotion

A constant reflection

Born in static symmetrical proportion

Its mimicry of motion

A pristine duplication,

Every detail, every scar

Artistic transcriptions

Dedication to minutia and scale,

Even the air passing quietly

Can be seen in each moving follicle of hair

Twist and squirm, gasping for air,

Too Surreal for me to bear

As a second silhouette systematically appears,

It too, a genetic anomaly, a precise duplicate

From clothing to stature,

From vision to voice, it speaks, I hear, I had no choice

Dropping to my knees, in defeat and victory,

One man and his clone unite, shattered on the floor,

While the first mirror remained, silent, still.

A Tactile Understanding

Tonsils swollen

Tongue bitten

Words fail to appear

Yet in my throat they are still,

Their tone, once violent,

Has now repealed,

They blame epiglottis

As the lungs expand

In disillusion

Towards an effort, a goal

Whose breath shall not breathe the scent of air

Skin ashen to sight,

To touch, smooth despite the pattern,

The softness reveals,

As the hands clasp my wrist,

Exerting warmth,

Your attempt to comfort,

Your way to console,

Yet when fingers quickly unlatch

And your body rigors in repeal

A point I’ve feared for very long,

A coldness, bloodless feeling, I’ve often dwelled upon

The Wombat and the Wolverine

As the Wombat licks clean the leaves

From a perch amongst the spacious trees

A wolverine in search of food

Observes a Caribou through

An undistributed rocky ledge

To which it drools a puddle

Of hunger and desire,

Engage it does,

Expedient and free,

Only to get snared

In a web so wide and deep,

Thrashing, claws provoked

Each limb further wrapped

With each thrust and movement

The spider who designed this trap

Toggles the fringes in passive wait

Until the wolverine’s will disintegrates

Giving the Wombat a most unexpected show




Reposted for Poetry Picnic 34: Plants, Creatures and the Cosmos.

Within a Pyramid's Reflection

Within A Pyramids Reflection

Flowers flower and bloom, she

Waits no longer as the first is lost

 Upon the wicked cruelty, the trivial and the

Meaningless, the softness hope clings to, the will

To wriggle, as well as be moved, offering prayers to

Blossom, but unaware is where the memory would live

Blind to the remainder of hours, it still persists towards any

Connection or intertwined desire.  Dreams time will offer no longer.

The Silhouette of the Spin Doctor

The lyrics had a special sort of mass appeal, reproaching castes,

Early to rise, above the truth, no consequence ever paid,

The expressed sorrow, shallower than all the pity shown,

As they sit forty stories high, above the unmarked graves

Lining scapegoats from a broken throne,

The fire would spread, throughout the fields

Over time forgotten, burning the crops,

As dignity falls, so do the barns,

Without reprieve or aid, the dirt rises, lifting ashes atop straw lining,

The dust forms with every affidavit lost,

Is this image obscene, for a voice to not be heard?

Are these words not clear, is no one scared?

The hate was mass produced,

Concocted not in playgrounds like they promote

But in the assembly lines we support,

The will of the people is not the alarm,

It’s the warning shot not issued,

Kin held back by yellow tape,

Breeding a new found rage

A delicate, synthetic hate,

One that will not quit, stewing and hunting,

Allowing justice to be served so quick, resolving, probing

A result from a corrupted politic, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth

For Which I Bleed

Several hours have since past

Since I last counted the days

Since you left my side

Broken, like a crippled child

Alone, a brand new world revealed,

From the womb they get thrust right in

Taught forever about wrong and right

Then they get diagnosed, something is not alright,

 The Parents are by the child, at its side,

As they bury conviction, suppress emotions,

Weeks may pass, months perhaps,

Where their inner anger clouds decision,

Constructing rationale for irrational thought,

And just about this time, these ideas start making sense,

To have no choice, no other option

To feel a sense of failure,

For first the self, and then the child,

Soon it travels to all extensions in your life,

Finally that feeling of failure turns to blame,

It’s everybody else’s fault to which everything falls apart

But the infant does not know, cannot understand,

And derision it is deadly to the touch, deadlier without,

To the child tears and sobs become the sounds and sights of life,

At least to the one they know, they life they will soon recognize,

Themselves as the center, the cause,

Just looking for a reason to be wrong,

But that comfort never comes,

First comes reflection, then a connection, finally an acceptance,

At this point rehabilitation is years long and rivers wide,

For all the misunderstanding they’ve since mastered,

And from each tear they’ve ever crafted,

But these ones are still able for rescue,

Then there are the others,

Those who’ve lost all comfort from a tear,

They’ve since moved to closets in the dark,

Removing so much of what is real,

They create a detached composite, a comfort zone,

All this pain easily evaded, if the parent chose to do what mattered most,

Instead of allowing fear to dictate what matters to them most,

If they only did their job, at least if they tried to,

The outcome much different perhaps, the child’s life changed a fact

The child’s life changed, a fact

In situations like this, for example,

I shed my coat and extend an arm,

Where the simplest of embraces to the most desolate of faces,

May extinguish the residue from a life of harm,

These all and many more, are but a few of the reasons, for which I bleed