Posts tagged ‘death’

November 20, 2014

Mislabeled Morbid (For née LB)

We live in a land of the past,
Books and pages are ways of old.

We are pieces of historic quilts,
Coming loose at the fold.

Proper prints of precious paper,
We have worshiped, day in and day out.

Those ancients come back to haunt us,
Specters float free around old house.

Preposterous monster, behold you!
So green, so vile, so askew-

Distant memories my friend, you’ve passed,
Now we make frightful light of you.

BOO!

There is nothing so morbid as fearing those of the dead,
It’s with great anxiety we’ve weighted them in our head.

*
My father would agree,
He was agreeable.

November 6, 2014

American Hunt (What’s for Lunch)

A Bow to bend
Is one taken in Hand,
An arrow extends
With no wound to mend.

At Speed it flew,
Put sharp head through.
What blood to spew,
What red bled through.

A mess of Hide
Plays with the mind.
Now run and hide,
To be found and die.

Follow the American Animal hunt;
Providing sustenance, it’s what’s for lunch.

October 31, 2014

Small Parts of Us

Balled tissue found in my pocket,
Crumpled, asymmetrical too,
Holding browned stained spatter,
Amongst dried tears of proof.

Discovered in seldom worn jacket,
Once you were tucked deep inside;
Producing contents as pure magic,
Tiny parts in my mind come alive.

Last I wore you to a wedding,
Then we heard passing bad news.
I was standing dressed in all black,
Together we were singing the blues.

I tucked you away just safely,
For another day to come;
I found you on this morning (for instance),
Now, I’ve been struck dumb.

Little things we keep, held on to so tight,
Parts of us small, which make up our lives.

October 25, 2014

Like God

If I were
Made in the likeness
Of God,

I wouldn’t
Exist.

Thank God.

October 22, 2014

flit.

We leave this life as flit of butterfly
When we endure beyond our purpose;
Aloof words come by which materialize,
We are left stoical, still, and wordless.

October 15, 2014

Idiots with Entitlement

One is made pragmatic by experience;
A grave man
Speaks grave words
Of which the living cannot hear.

I would not spend $50,000 to buy shit.

Old-time orthodox tradition;
If fish didn’t kill themselves
By swimming out of water
We wouldn’t have cellphones.

Fact.

Relative relations wouldn’t spring so fast on advantage.

Fact.

Men wouldn’t stand on two legs,

Or breathe the thin air.

Or Fuck or Fight,

Or even care.

Fact.

Modern times,
What is art for?
Based on rhymes,
Behind closed doors.

And then they tell us to read:

Edgar Allan Poe,
Shakespeare,
Derrida,
Asimov.

Where “Lawyer” isn’t even a Word…

-Small town folk,
With small town ideals.
Maybe I’m joking,
Maybe I’m ForRealz.

I argue,
The same;
Because I am
Cut from the same cloth.

Then they tell us to fit in this:

Tight
Rigid,
Imposing,
Oppressive,
Box.

Though,

I was merely stuck in a book,
You merely read some words.
If things weren’t going for me
I’d probably too act on urge.

Now, how does one do the first part again?

October 3, 2014

Seasonable Clock

Even the morning seems acutely somber
Broad clouded skies hold steady longer
Green leaves thick ripped from their place
Void departed relatives we save nigh space
Juxtapose this deep cutting- chilled contrast
Waiting for summer’s waning neb to fast pass
Vexed by cruel and unrelenting, stiff nature
Fool-heartedly with their lives they wager
On a single day we wish to stay the same
On forcible winds we wish to have changed
Man can live amongst this time and watch,
As he winds the seasonable swift ticking clock.

October 1, 2014

Patience in the Rain

Rain sluiced along proofed fabric
A time for lights in opaque dark
Hope at the end of a long tunnel
Cautious minds where thoughts start

Wet roads have been transposed
Reflecting on headlights and glare
Soaked to the bone, not wet- froze
Sore feet, legs bent, to climb stairs

Trees brown hung in a thick fog
Broken dreams soaked in ketamine
Short life; once considered so long
Desperation in true wants and needs

Appeal to us, they scream their pleas
Attempt aloofly soft big bear hug
Buried alive in the blackened soil
Fist blooded at the red door front

Pushing hard shiny metal pedals
Once a kiss, and then once more
Some say that patience is a virtue
It depends on what you wait for.

September 10, 2014

Restless Weather

Dark clouds formed the sky as wind touched my face
My dead and gone ancestors have done this to me
Taking it in together, we stand tall hands linked
Expressionless, our emotion takes hold, carried-
Art appeared on the flesh; red lines raised
Trusting paths we’ve taken, as the towers climb
Reflecting the river waters as the seasons change
Showers reigned in testing the land, the crop, the life
High up a bulb flashes near birds so lofty fly
Inclement weather of remembrance, the rain
Drenched thru flesh, soulfully feeling inward pain
Eyes scan and absorb, what now, what more, what remains
Strength enough not to collapse, feels appropriate,
Apropos no more, prompt forecast coming belated,
Arousal of the air currents, moved, we were but shaken.

September 5, 2014

What of Water?

Each morning
bells ring.

Tired hands
clasp and twist knobs.
Fingers fondling
fidget on dials.
Bolt upright
sharp angles in bed.

Legs swing round
to touch wooden floors.

Stand walking to alabaster bathroom door.

Drawing curtains,
transparent.

Naked and drowsy,
there is nothing left to hide.
Flood of water
on the rise.
Switch to nozzle,
step inside
A slippery wet tub.
Lather. Rinse. Dry.

We are washing in that same water that alludes the thirsty.
Out of the many problems we make, what could the worst be?

I came out clean, save for conscious.

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