Disheveled Ignorance

Lines blur as energies emancipate,

Time becomes just an artifact clinging to the nail,

While we are all made of flesh and red is the

Color of blood, the hand of the present hour darkens the premise that commingles with the air…

Mankind is blue on the inside…

Stereotypes distort the freedom our forefathers so selflessly fought for…

Castes depress the potential from perhaps the most brilliant of minds… but never mind…do not be concerned, with that does not defect you….keep on blinking…as innocence is belied…forced to till the fields at dawn…until sweat merges with the blood of the never spawned…

Platelets…meshing in skewered coercion

Marrow…corroding reality, separating the sinew from the bones broken during a midday matinee…in dream…we flail

Yet we are capable of so much more…more than shaking ourselves clean and clear…we are leagues better than those that witness the warped branches of the abhorred…perhaps even smiling as we avert our eyes

And then from those trees, where no leaf shall ever grow again, we may sigh…wondering where the breath begins…

The Nobody with the Chance to be a Hero to Somebody

listen to ‘The Nobody with the Chance to be a Hero to Somebody’ on Audioboo

Contained with—

         In jury duty

Pain emanates

         From routes

Un honed

Armor-piercing.

Ear-shattering

A small incision

Just below

The line of sight…

Obstinate jailer

Pacing up a floor routine

Dangling freedom

About—watching as salvation

Steals from his unsteadiness—

Easily seen, and playable if so deemed—

His naivety

Ignorance…you’re the biggest thing to cross his page

                  A full context ad, in a world where the best

                  Has always been a passing byline or two

                  Sweat billows upon each the points…”don’t screw this up, don’t be that guy, just play it cool, wait for the cavalry to return, and take this guy away…”

                           “HEY…doesn’t it seem strange…”

“Ignore him…just trying to get in your head…stay focused….don’t be the fool…don’t be tricked”

                           “I’m innocent…I’m being set up…and you’re the patsy…the perfect nobody…not my words…but I’m sure the one’s you’ve thought over and over again…and guess what….they know it too….you’ll get a call…very soon if I’m close here…it’ll say something to the effect of….”

         “Shut UP…damn it….I said be quiet…”

Pools freely flow

Drainage ditches rutting down the carotid, spreading quickly beneath the uniform…

                           “Well…hey…I get it…really…I do…this is the break you’ve been praying for…dreaming of…ain’t it at least the tiniest bit odd though…that a bolo goes out…a vague description…White Male…Late 20’s to mid 40’s…no hair color…no additional features…kind of odd too, isn’t it…how such a major criminal I am…and they can’t or don’t even include the fact I have shoulder length hair and an extremely full beard…perhaps it’s just me…but I think those descriptions would’ve been added…don’t you…you seem like a fairly intelligent guy…kind of makes you wonder at least right?  

         “Just you…just shut up…let me think…no more out of you…”

                           “Hey, I get it…don’t let ethics or something so minor as due diligence get in the way now…no, and then, what are the odds…that the bolo goes out at 3:00pm from…. and at 3:30 I’m getting picked up here…when we’re at least 2 hours away from….”

Instigating morality from a robust crypt

         Options are limited; yet trip the switch we often must

                  Demand more information, additional data to bolster the claim…if not, then why…please…some details must be obtained…some conveniences have to be explained….

Open ended…. the way every story…ever play…finishes…when you cut away…

Dutiful Bones

Manicdaily is hosting Poetics tonight over at D'Verse.  Tonights prompt is to write about duty, obligations etc.. Head there to see the great poetry linked up tonight, and while you're there, how about taking a stab at the prompt yourself.  Cheers.

Distancing the gap created
by lost vestiges and saltine
goodbyes, I must say, are
words that I simply allowed
slip from tongue to page.

Transient digressions into
dark and tattered ventricles,
I feel as if I deny this
journey more often than
naught.  For fear, perhaps
I allow the sinew to entangle
and to clot.

Saracens and poets, salesmen
and thieves.  Liars and bigots,
parrots and queens.  Lower-cased
opinions, divided amongst
grandiose ideas that will never
pass the eyeball test….yet
time fades quickly, and we stare
and stare, for ways…

Approaching the chambers of
wind and steel.  Dancing with
zealots and laughing with fools.
Caricatures aren't we all, of not our-
selves than tell me whom?

Chagrined impressions done
with pen in hand.  Sincerity
lost in terrain we've no business
upon.  Or do we?

Isn't the air free to breathe?
Last time I checked it certainly
was….there I checked again,
and perhaps you were right,
there's something in the wind.

A line of prosperity is often not a line at all
An area of magnitude is often very small
Sailboats and augers both
set for the unknown
in spite of what may be
buried
deep
within
the stains we
see

Dutiful bones, unearthed, to dust...

They say to write for twenty minutes
they say not to lift the pen, er. fingers,

They say not to filter
they say not to punctuate
or to worry about spelling.

But if, I chose to do as they instruct me to,
there would be so many dissected sentences,
so many foreign words scattered about the
page.

If I chose to obey their wisdom, surreal
architecture of a journey would not be all
that unwinds…for when I dream, which of
course, I'm a poet, so I do it all the time…

You'd find love, freely anointing most the page…
not that there's anything wrong with love
not saying that at all
but last thing
anyone wants to read
is advice from
one who
never takes
any himself.

So now I'll sing the songs I hear
as they scrawl about the air..
right now, it's Nine Inch Nails
slowly speaking of elaborate
dreams…in a song called right
where it belongs, which, now
as I reflect…is as perfect as a song can get...

darn it all to someplace hot, the
stopwatch chimes it's note, but done I'm not

Okay, I'll cheat, just don't tell anybody…you promise…
ok, I'll quietly finish
by saying, in regards to duty…

I do this for you but
mainly I do this all for me…

The Good Father

Door Knobs clog, puttering with-

Explanation- by making stories

Sadness- with clever quips

Corduroy jacks can’t life the spare

A circle of valor sleeps

As all things mount

Some visit the well

Some transform in else

Many tears will fall

This you cannot defend-

But from sorrow or Joy-

That’s a game for playing

Jagged symbols clash in sync

Burdening the world you try to bring

Hems of meanings strewn

Seeds sown often listen to others

Sometimes it’s better to be a friend

But mainly you should be a father

The claustrophobia of sentinels

The silent echoes in the night

The worried welts we build inside

All worth the price of a smiling face

A good father will provide

At all costs, thinking only as to how

In a land condemned by greed

In a land alive with infamy

A good father will protect his own

A good father will protect his home.

With Shields Removed

Don’t turn around,

It won’t consume you when you follow a path

Don’t turn around,

Or face, you will, his unearthly wrath,

I knew too much, too soon,

Age shortened, mind erased,

I knew it all before my time,

Consecrated, desecrated,

I was the only hindrance to his reign,

One born directly akin,

One without ability to sin

I can feel you, and all your minions,

Approaching shadows, crossing in the nights,

I can sense your presence; your foul stench,

Shifting about stealthily; withering, stealing life,

Looking for a time when I’m not near,

Waiting till she’s alone,

Waiting for separation to strike

Don’t turn around,

It can’t devour when the path is clear,

Don’t turn around,

It can’t reach those not consumed by fear,

I can see you walking

A familiar path, a road so well known,

I can feel you talking, each word you speak,

Another moment passes by,

Hang up the phone; hear me call,

Don’t turn around; this is for real,

I can see it closing; another second it does steal,

It’s my fault, its breath you now feel,

I’m much too far, close-yet away,

To protect you now, from an attack that is meant for me,

Just keep moving; I’m almost there,

Don’t turn around; do not veer,

Don’t turn around; please I beg you to hear me please,

Footsteps now covet the sound,

For a pause you stop,

Listening, slightly leaning

Torso, directed to the left,

Shoulder out, hair flies by,

In slow motion, I see the shadow in your eyes,

To my knees I drop,

An agony I was never taught,

Light escaping from each side,

The fluidity rushing from my eyes,

There’s nothing you can do,

No physical infliction upon this frame,

Yet I feel the torture so deep inside,

It came for me,

I tried to save,

It came for me,

It cared not for you,

Just a pawn,

An attempt to harm,

And you would have been fine,

Had you not heard,

The tonality of my tongue,

Calling out, summoning you,

The only reason,

For which you turned around,

And now,

Descend

I

Must

To

A

Place

I

Am

Without

Protective

Shield 

Trying to save a Lamb from Slaughter

listen to ‘Trying to Save A Lamb from Slaughter’ on Audioboo

Gentle lamb I applaud you this eve,

Your voice remains in such a calmed state,

Even after I told you

Would it change perspective?

If you were moved from last to first

A lottery won in reverse,

Would it matter?

If I opened the gate,

And turned my face,

Would you leave then, or would you remain?

I never should have named you,

I never should have watched over you

I never should have loved you like a parent does a son

I can’t disobey; I too am a father’s son

How can what I see as slaughter, you view as duty?

Tell me what to do,

Don’t act like this isn’t happening,

I assure you that time is gone,

We are here,

This is real